


Asteroid

by TheArchaeologist



Category: Guardians of the Galaxy (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, Thor (Movies)
Genre: AU, Angst, Blood, Brotherly Angst, Dark Elves, Drama, Drug Use, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Families of Choice, Family, Family Drama, Family Dynamics, Family Feels, Flashbacks, Fluff and Angst, Found Family, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Illness, Injury, Jotun Loki, Loki (Marvel)-centric, Mentions of Hela - Freeform, Norse Mythology - Freeform, Panic Attacks, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Racism, Ravagers - Freeform, Svartalfheim, Swearing, Unconventional Families, Violence, Yggdrasil - Freeform, alternative universe
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-02-09
Updated: 2019-03-06
Packaged: 2019-03-16 00:20:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 77
Words: 84,663
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13624566
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheArchaeologist/pseuds/TheArchaeologist
Summary: Loki falls from the Bifrost. However, instead of landing into the hands of a mad titan, he finds himself on a ship with a bunch of a-holes.Set before Volume 2.





	1. Chapter 1

Space is endless.

It has no beginning and no end. While it will never want for lack of wonder, it shall forever be viewed as an empty, barren place. Those who cross it will go galaxies without seeing signs of life. One could spend decades upon decades simply travelling, never to see a single living soul. They would need to spend even longer searching for those intelligent enough to withhold a conversation.

Falling was no different.

The beauty around him was deceiving. It beckoned like a priestess, a sly witch, singing her sweet tune. 

“Come,” She would whisper in his ear, breaking the voiceless silence of space. “Admire my cosmos. Bask is the magnificence of the constellations, the great spirals of realms you have never heard spoken on another’s breath. Gaze upon the asteroids, on their fated quests to other worlds. They shall bring life, they shall bring destruction.”

At times, he swore he could feel her gentle arms around his shoulders, embracing him as he fell. Flashes of another, a woman with delicately curled hair and the softest of voices, echoed through his hollow mind. But his lips were numb and cracked and dry, and by the time he managed to bring about his voice from the depths of his throat her name had slipped away like smoke.

And so Loki continued falling alone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A short opening, but from here on out things are gonna get fun!


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Loki has a lot of fun

Like a hummingbird consciousness darts just out of his reach, fluttering up to him only to skip away whenever he lunges to grab hold. His skin feels rough and unwashed, as if he had rolled in dry sand. There’s a chill to it which he cannot place, one that feels as if it is sinking into his muscles, his veins, and rooting itself into the very marrow of his bones. He can’t move, despite how much he wants too. His arms are heavy and tied at the wrists. His legs have no control, similar to those of a new born foal born too weak and frail and fated to last no more than hours in the world.

His tongue sits thick inside his mouth, dry and strangely raw. It’s unnaturally raw even, as is his throat. The inside of his nose feels sore and the skin stretched. His eyes, as they move against his closed eyelids, are fragile and sting. Every time he manages to catch a feather of his hummingbird and crack them open, tears spill down his cheeks without consent, and bright light pulses overhead.

Somewhere maybe far away, maybe near, a person talks to him. They waffle, voice nothing but warble, and he has not the energy to translate the bizarre sounds. So he blocks them out, ignores them, and instead focuses on the weird feeling inside his lungs. There’s a coarseness to them, a haggard nature to his breathing. The scraping of air tinted with oddness claws at him from the inside out. But he is feeling simply too drained to try and decipher why everything feels this way, so instead he turns his back to the hummingbird and drifts into the comforting black.

Time seems to pass. Different voices of different pitches come and go. Sometimes the lights are on when tired eyes are pried open; sometimes they have been turned down low. Whether that means days are going by, he cannot be sure. 

A feeling in the tips of his fingers starts letting itself be known. It’s sharp and painful, and when it first emerges his whole body flinches. Not long after, his toes follow suit. 

And then, suddenly, as if this dreamy state he has been in was suddenly yanked away, he can feel everything. 

He’s lying in a bed, with a blanket over him.

There is something covering his face, over his nose and mouth, the material cool. It refuses to budge.

There are things inserted into his arms, stinging sensitive skin.

There are cuffs on his wrists, on his legs, across his chest, holding him down, squeezing him and containing him. 

In the flesh by his ear, something is _screaming._

Loki’s eyes snap open, and he jerks.

Hands instinctively snap to try and reach his ears, to cover them, to scratch at them, anything to dislodge whatever the device is. As his senses return, his muddled mind registers with increasing horror that there is a small square object _underneath his skin,_ emitting a horrific screech of magic and energy which threatens to swallow him whole. 

His legs are kicking, straining against the cuffs, pulling, tugging, ripping. His arms too are moving without control, twisting the strong material clinging to them. Desperate, his eyes dart around, trying to familiarise himself, to spot something, anything, to give him a clue on what is going on, where he is.

People are running into the room. They wear stark white clothing, and hands are reaching forward to hold him. Words are being shouted, but what they are saying was lost to him over the device. 

“Let me go!” 

His magic is swelling beneath his skin, his breathing is far too quick for him to control. 

“Let me go, please!”

Someone, who’s red with blue eyes, is trying to pierce him with a strange thin object. 

“No, no, no!”

Brilliant green magic explodes from his body, flinging people into walls and carts and counters. Sparks fly and glass tubes crash to the floor.

Loki ignores all of it, because finally, _finally_ , he has his arm free. Snapping upright, he yanks off the other restraints and the thing over his face, stumbling off the bed and making a beeline for the closest door. The skin of his bare feet prickles on the cold floor. Equipment is dragged after him, and he only pauses a second to snatch out the stinging lines from his arm. Blood wells on too-pale skin.

The device is still shrill beside his ear.

Stumbling out the door, an array of illusions follows him. They tumble in every which way as if cattle being released into a meadow after a winter inside the barn. More people in white are running, giving chase to some, trying to corner others. Clutching at his ear and fingers snagging on knotted hair, Loki, in one last desperate action, musters enough energy to teleport.

Teleporting without prior knowledge to where one is heading is stupid. It’s dangerous, it’s reckless, and it’s a death mission if ever there was one. It is with a pray to the gods that he mutters,

“Outside.”

Everything lurches, and his stomach turns, and then he lands in a mess of limbs onto a wet stone floor. Gasping, he curls into himself, blood dribbling from his mouth from where he has apparently bit his tongue. The inside of his elbows sting and his arms shiver. He pants, wanting nothing more than to lay there numb on the floor. 

But something touches his shoulder, and forcefully turns him over onto his back. Dazed eyes drift to the sky, which is bright but overcast, and then the narrow walls on either side. Some kind of back alley?

There’s a small creature to the side of his face, trying to catch his attention. Loki’s head throbs, the screaming object hammering further into his brain with every passing second, but he manages to tilt is slightly.

A plant blinks at him, and, from sheer perplexity, Loki freezes. 

The…Tree, for lack of better description, stands there, deep brown eyes watching him. Is it some form of troll, maybe? Or a deformed forest species? Behind it is a large sack, filled with various lumps.

Very suddenly hands are grabbing his face and steering his attention to directly above him, and Loki comes face-to-face with the snout of an animal.

His weakened body immediately shocks him with another round of adrenaline, and Loki rips himself away, rolling onto his hands and knees. The woodland creature’s mouth is moving, standing on two legs and gesturing to him while assumably talking to the plant. It is wearing clothes. 

The wailing continues inside his skull, and Loki’s eyes lock onto the dagger on the animal’s belt.

The animal is facing the plant, arms crossed.

Loki dives.

The creature startles, darting backwards and holding out some form of weapon. But this does not matter; Loki is already bringing the blade to his head, the sharp point tracing the stitched wound just beneath the shell of his ear. As he drives it in, hot blood pours down his neck and the animal takes on an expression one can only assume is distress.

Something small and solid slides out, and abruptly the shriek stops.

Loki sits back on his knees, panting heavily. The animal stares. The plant huddles by the sack. Three humanoid figures are entering the dark alleyway.

It begins to snow.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Loki is enjoying himself, as you can see


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which we establish the plant's name. Twice.

The three consist of a green female, a blond-haired male, and someone who either has a scarred body or embedded natural markings. They watch him with varying levels of concern. The plant goes scuttling towards them. The animal is shuffling about on the spot, weapon neither trained on Loki nor turning away. The wound throbs.

“I am Loki,” He begins, tongue naturally slipping into Allspeak. His voice sounds strange to his ears, so now used to the silent vacuum of space. “Of…” He swallows, and blames it on the roughness of his throat. “I am Loki.”

“Great to know pal.” The animal says, with a voice that shows a controlled wobble. “I’d like to know what the _fuck_ you think you’re doing.”

Briefly, he wonders why the presence of a talking forest creature is not causing him more distress. Maybe the adrenaline is clouding him mind. Maybe he has turned mad. 

That would hardly be a surprising development.

“Rocket.” The green woman chastises, moving forward towards Loki. “My name is Gamora. What-” 

Loki holds out the dagger as she steps too close, and she retreats back a few paces. 

“I am Groot.” The plant blurts.

Loki’s eyes dart to the plant, _Groot_ apparently, but are quick to return to the woman.

“He’s from the hospital.” The blond man says, keeping his distance and watching Loki with distrustful eyes. He adds, voice lower but still completely within listening range, “In all likelihood, he’s a little bit-” He makes a twisting gesture by his head and whistles. “Y’know?”

The scarred man gives him a perplexed expression.

“Why would this person curl their hair, when they are so clearly wounded? It seems like a strange use of their time.”

“What? No, like nuts.”

A pause.

“I do not understand-”

“He means he’s a lunatic, genius!” The animal, named ‘Rocket’ of all things, snaps. 

“Guys!” Gamora shouts, causing the three to fall silent. She must be the person in charge, Loki concludes. She gives him a smile clearly intent on being comforting. “We mean you know harm, do you know where you are?”

He has two options here. He could answer honestly, and risk being at the mercy of these people, who could take him anywhere and do anything, or he could lie, and try to work it out for himself.

His decision obviously takes too long, because Gamora kneels and offers out her hand.

“Loki, can you give me the blade?” He watches her, still breathing heavily. “The thing is, it belongs to Rocket, and if he doesn’t get it back he’ll be complaining for days.”

“Oh god!” The blond man whines. “Please dude, for my sanity, give back the knife, he’ll only make a new one from _my_ stuff!”

“I am Groot!” The plant said again, and Loki gives it a bewildered glance.

“As I believe we established.” He croaks. The hand holding the knife shivers a little.

“Loki?” Gamora asks, holding out her hand.

He stares at her.

“I refuse to return to that place.” He states, not breaking eye contact. “And I believe I am in need of supplies.”

“Look at you, making demands.” Rocket says while crossing its (his?) arms. “Who died and made you king?”

“Prince, actually…” His mouth speaks before Loki can control it. Correcting a presumed title is mostly a habit, one he used to use to lord over new council members who believed him to be a simple noble and talked to him as such. Loki had not the need to do so for a while now, and it sparked a strange feeling in his chest.

Only a second after speaking did he realise his error. Damn, that was too big a piece of information. That would give them something to trace, a trail back to Asgard. He was without a doubt a wanted man, if thought alive.

The back of his mind is mildly surprised at how quickly he switches from ‘King’ to ‘Prince’ again. Well, he did say he never wanted the throne.

The blond man’s eyebrows shoot up, Gamora tilts her head, and the scarred man nods in his direction in what Loki suspects to be a native form of a bow.

“Your majesty.” He says. Rocket barks a laugh.

“Wait, you actually believe this guy?”

“Why would I not-”

“Because he’s insane, dumbass!”

Loki cannot help but take offence. 

“I speak the truth. I am Crowned Prince, second heir to the throne.” And first in Jotunheim. “You would do not to speak so flippantly, rodent.”

Mother always said his pride would be his biggest weakness. In Loki’s defence, his mind is a muddled mess at the moment, leaving his mouth to have full reign of his words.

Rocket bristles and surges forward.

“Look here, shitbag, I ain’t-”

Gamora grabs Rocket’s jacket and drags him back.

“Enough! Everyone!” She sighs heavily, and holds out her hand once again. “Loki, you have my word that nothing will be done to you. Your wound is bleeding; if it is not treated it will become infected. You have no supplies and no money. Please, give me the dagger and we can go to our ship.” All her words are unnervingly true. Loki goes over his (very limited) options.

He could scavenge these back alleyways, find something of worth and exchange it for money. Try and find work or live off scraps until he can afford to buy himself a room in an inn, or a means of transportation (to where?), or better clothing.

He could return to the apparent hospital, and hope that they resemble the healers back on Asgard and mean no ill-intent. But even so, what would he do after he was healed? How would be pay for his treatment?

He could whore himself out.

Most of these options will end with him dead.

“I…Accept…”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well isn't this fun?


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A smurf makes a brief appearance

The room he is taken to, on board the strange and compact spacecraft, seems to be a small medical room of sorts. While there is no real order to the items and their storage, he spots rolls of bandages amongst the objects. 

He is instructed to sit on the edge of a bare bed.

“You’re going to need stitches.” Gamora informs him as she cleans away dried blood from his neck and head. The scarred man, who Loki has discovered is named ‘Drax’, stands in the doorway watching. Observing the man and his body language, Loki concludes that he has been issued body guard duty, but not by his own choice.

Something cold is pressed against his head, and Loki flinches.

“I did warn you.” Gamora huffs. She puts it against his skin again. “It’ll numb the area so I can stitch it…Oh…”

Loki narrows his eyes at her. His fingers absently play with his nails as his hands rest on his lap. They still have the slight shake to them.

“Are you meant to…Do that?”

“Do what?”

“The blue…”

Loki flinches away, eyes focusing down to his hands and the retreating colour. The runes sink back into his skin, and his nails shed the black to shift to pallid white. Breathing through his nose, he gives Gamora a pleasant but tight smile.

“Let’s just stitch the wound, shall we?”

Gamora frowns, and goes to put the cold object, a rag with ice he realises, back by his ear. He catches her wrist in a firm grip.

“The stitches?”

“But I need to-”

“It will be fine. The stitches?”

Clearly unhappy but choosing to remain silent on the matter, Gamora puts down the rag and wipes down his wound with something, making it sting. Then she moves close, their heads inches from one another, and carefully pierces his skin with a needle.

There’s…Something odd in the air. 

It’s nothing to do with Gamora being so close to him, he has dealt with many women before and understands the idea of ‘there’s a time and place’ (Thor took far longer to learn). No, this is something physically in the air. Like hundreds of tiny shockwaves in quick succession, or ripples from a drooping reed, the tip repeatedly disturbing the water surface. It is almost dancing before him, mostly invisible yet still there. Loki closes his eyes, trying to understand it, to latch onto it. Something about it hints magic, but it is noticeably not. More like an active energy, then? 

Loki blinks.

Actually, it is an awful lot like the thing that had been in his ear. 

Keeping his head still, he glances over to Gamroa. Specifically, this eyes train onto the small faded scar just below her earlobe. 

“Why does Gamora’s scalp confuse you?”

Loki startles somewhat, focusing on Drax in the doorway at the same moment Gamora cuts the thread and moves away with a soft, “Done.” Loki stands on sore feet, a hand rising to trace her work.

“Something confuses you.” Drax states plainly. Loki swallows, turning to Gamora.

“Excuse me for asking, but what is that under your ear?”

“An earring?”

“No, I mean…” Loki holds up his hand, trying to trace the energy. Gamora moves away. “I’m not going to touch you, I just…I cannot place what it is.”

“My universal translator?” She raises an eyebrow, and goes to trace the scar without thinking. Her eyes go to his wound, brighten in understanding, and then confusion. “You cut out your universal translator?”

“It hurt.”

“They often hurt when first implanted.” Drax informs him. “I remember when I received my first. My father-”

“Not the time.” Gamora halts him. “How can you understand us?”

“I am fluent in Allspeak.”

“Allspeak?”

Loki pauses, and again curses his dulled mind. If the Allspeak is not common here, then that is another point which could be traced back to the Nine Realms, and then his status to Asgard. But he is too far with this conversation now, and Gamora and Drax are giving him odd looks.

“The Allspeak is a language version of a universal translator, if my assumption of what that is stands correct. It allows you to understand me in your native tongue, and translates what you say to me.”

“I have not heard of such a language.” Drax says, in a voice caught between wonder and bewilderment. “It never reached my home galaxies.”

“I’ve had my translator since I was a girl, so I wouldn’t know either way.” Gamora is staring at him coolly, and a chill runs up Loki’s back.

“Well, not everything can reach everywhere.” 

Gamora hums, watching him a moment longer, before stepping back and running an observant eye over him.

“You’re still a mess. What happened to your arm?”

There is still blood in the crook of his elbow.

“Oh, I removed whatever had been placed there. It was not needed.”

“You ran from a hospital, it was probably there to help you.” She sounds mildly cross. “When was the last time you drank anything?”

Loki opens his mouth but nothing comes out. He had drunk not long before his fight with Thor, but who knows how long ago that was. It had felt like he had been falling for years, had he? Or was that simply an illusion of the mind? He had entered a wormhole, a rip in time and space. Was time faster there, or was it slower? Could it be both? Neither?

“Loki?”

“I…I cannot say.” 

Gamora frowns, turns, and walks out the room. 

“Can you really understand everything I am saying?” Drax asks, as if they have not been left standing awkwardly in a medical room.

“Yes.” Loki answers curtly, beginning to dislike his interest in the topic. Drax doesn’t seem to notice.

“Fascinating.”

Gamora returns, and thrusts a cup of water into his hands.

“Drink this, and then I think we need to have a talk.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Dumps this here and leaves humming the Smurf theme*


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Loki goes for a stroll outside

Gamora leads him out into a corridor and through the spacecraft. If he was to be completely honest, Loki would simply have preferred leaving, supplies be damned. Gamora and Drax have been asking too many questions; have been digging into his _whys_ and _whats_ a little too much.

The underside of his feet feel bruised and damaged as he walk, and he knows his skin is dry and cold to the touch. Loki’s energy is diminished, as is his magic, and his head continues to feel as if someone had cracked open his skull and tipped in hard, sharp gravel. 

In short, Loki is not in the best emotional or mental state for dodging questions and manipulating answers. These people, whether genuine in their care or not, would ultimately lead him to some form of ruin. They could easily use the information passing from his free speaking mouth against him, or unwittingly hand it over to others who would be more than happy to cart him back to Asgard, chained and weak.

However, at present an opportunity to slip away or outwardly announce his departure had not arisen, and now Loki found himself with Drax walking directly behind, very much within his personal bubble. There was absolutely no way Loki could ever fight against Drax without the use of his magic.

They enter a room, where the blond man, whose name Loki has yet to gain, Rocket, and Groot are standing around in discussion. On a table in front of them they have a number of glowing objects, which appear to be this planet’s version of scrolls and books. Upon touching the surface of these strange devices small annotations and pictures move around beneath the finger.

At first Loki cannot help but be genuinely curious, intrigued by this unknown technology, until he notices Asgard’s name written on one in his native script. Other pads gleam different alphabets, but all have the brilliant image of the palace. Instantly he stops, stumbling backwards only to bump into Drax’s chest. 

“What is wrong?” Drax asks.

“We’ve been doing a little digging.” Rocket cuts in before Loki can even fathom a reply. “Turns out old prince-y here was telling the truth.” He tosses a pad to Drax, who catches it and examines the script Loki cannot understand. 

“Asgard.” Drax reads aloud. “Part of the so-called Nine Realms. Asgard is the leading power of these realms, which fall under its empire. Trade and contact with Asgard and its territories is not only prohibited, but ill-advised.”

The blond man taps between images of the palace, the Bifrost, and the square Loki recognises as the one used for their events, and then gestures roughly in Loki’s direction. 

“Seems like he helped exile his older brother, and when his father was sick took the throne for himself.” He stops as he reads something, and then whistles. “Then tried to kill an entire planet?”

Gamora leans over his shoulder, scanning the words.

“The second Prince perished after-”

Loki isn’t listening. Instead his eyes are darting around the room, noting three doors and two windows. Gamora is still focusing on the information before her. Drax is behind him, looking down at the glowing pad. Rocket has been distracted by Groot, who is tugging at his jacket in an attempt to get his hand into to a pocket.

They never saw the illusions coming.

Hot pain stabs Loki in the gut, causing a startled gasp to strangle at his throat, but his legs are moving before his mind can even process the gnawing agony. The illusions work, startling the five by darting across the room. One is trying to break a window, and another tries to go running around Drax. The actual Loki staggers through a door to an open loading area, bare feet slipping on the icy ramp though not toppling him altogether. 

“Loki!” Gamora shouts somewhere.

One hand gripping at the flimsy material of his tunic over his stomach, Loki wobbles his way into a large crowd forming on the street. The sky has turned dark between his arrival onto the ship and now, and ghastly bright lights are flashing and blinking above various establishments. 

He barely registers the people standing in windows in skimpy rags, or the thick sweet smell that lingers in the air. He weaves around people, like a salmon journeying upriver, scraping the bare skin of his arms against harsh metal zips and buckles and unsheathed weapons. People are drinking and stumbling against him, forcing Loki to dodge, duck down, to stop and start. His mind has become tunnelled, his vision hazy, and the only thoughts which enter his mind are ‘get away’ and ‘make turns’ and ‘head down’. 

His feet are bleeding. There’s broken glass in the snow. 

Eventually his legs shake dangerously, and Loki finally allows himself to collapse in a back street behind a loud establishment. He sits against the wall, legs drawn up, head in his hands. The music is pumping in waves, and the wall vibrates to the beat against his back. The sky is black and overcast with clouds above him, snowing gently but constantly. The pain in his stomach has lessened, but is quickly being replaced by an awful need for food. 

His energy is depleted. What little magic he had has become miniscule after that escape. He hasn’t eaten since the fall, nor has he had a proper night’s sleep. His body his weak. His mind is scattered and tired. His stupid feet hurt.  
A thought of home flits through his thoughts.

His mind’s eye shows Loki his room; the large windows that he leaves open in summer and the desk on which he left his notebook. It is one of a long line of notebooks, in which he has spent years scribbling away all this theories, is spells, his observations. They are all neatly catalogued on his bookshelves, which he magically shielded so no other hands could touch them. 

His daggers, the ones he earned and display with pride, also remain in his room. They did not originally have a shield over them, until they were used as darts while he was away on a diplomatic trip with the dwarfs. He had returned home to a large figure sprawled across his bed, casually tossing them at a point in the wall. He could remember how mad he had been, so angry with-

Thor.

Loki’s memories become bitter and stained.

Thor was probably with Odin now. He had to be, for they were all stuck on Asgard. They would have no way to travel, no way to reach Midgard, or Nidavellir, or Nifheim, or any of the Nine Realms. Eight Realms, if Loki’s actions were any success. He never saw the final outcome of that little endeavour. For all he knew, he could be the last of his kind.

And wasn’t that a pleasant thought?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Loki, King of Having a Bad Day


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Loki contemplates dandruff...Sort of

Things…Drift, after that. Absently, Loki is aware of people wandering into the alley, all songs and merriment. He ignores them, and they ignore him in return. The logical part of Loki’s brain, the part which is sharp and quick as a whip, knows that he is wasting his time here. He should be out searching for food or money or better clothing. He needs to be finding shelter from the snow. His condition will only worsen in time; right now he is the best he is going to be. 

However, that part of his brain is also tired, foggy, and a lonely haze. When Loki’s head tips forward onto his knees, he finds his hair, as it falls off his shoulders and around his face, still smells of metal and ozone and _nothing_. When his eyes close, stars flicker before him as well as that never ending blackness that can only come from space.

Rough hands take his own, and press three beads into his palm. They say something slurred and pat him on the shoulder, and then leave, tripping over their own feet. He blinks down at his act of charity quietly.

Loki is no fool. He has seen such things passed around before, under the tables at banquets or wrapped in thin cloth and hidden inside the jackets of those who stand on street corners. He has seen the effects too. He has seen the ones who lay near dead in the streets, pupils too large and mouth frothing. 

Sometimes they make the individual think they can achieve amazing feats. Once a woman tried to leap from a balcony, believing she would sprout wings and fly to her lost sister. Another, a male with a large orange beard, convinced himself that he was being followed by a shadowed person, and repeatedly came stumbling to the palace doors seeking refuge.

Occasionally there were the rare concoctions that made all your worries float away from your body, and left you in a brilliant daze of peace.

The chances of these little red beads being those were slim.

Loki takes them anyway.

Disappointingly, his thoughts prove to be true. They are the opposite.

The lights of the colourful flashing signs slowly begin to melt together like a painter’s palette, swirling and making his head sway on his neck. Soon his whole body begins to rock in time with his head. His head which is coming off. Falling off. Snapping off. Splintering away from his body. Cracking open, like the small potted figure his mother used to own. The one Thor knocked off a table as he went running by, causing it to shatter on the floor. It did not bleed though, as Loki was now.

Possibly, at least. There was a lot of red anyway, so he could be bleeding. Maybe. Or was it the snow? Could snow even be red? No, wait, yes it could. He had seen it before, when he and Thor and the Warriors Three fought once, when they were barely out of their teenage years. A rebellion, or a mob, or a something had battled them. Yes, there had been a lot of red snow them. It must be a thing, then.

Loki was dribbling.

He could not find the strength to lift a hand to wipe it away.

But he still had the state of mind to mutter to himself, “How degrading…”

It was not like his hands were listening to him anyway. One had wandered off, bored, and the other was in his hair. Now he thought about it, he could feel his nails digging into his scalp. When was the last time he had washed his hair anyway?

No matter, he could wash it in the rain.

Rain? No, that wasn’t rain. Rain was not something so solid to the eye. The white stuff…Oh to Hel, the name was on the edge of his tongue, grating against his teeth.

Dandruff?

No. No, no, no. Oh no, no, no. 

His head rolled, and the bones of his neck crunched in his ears.

Time was freezing and falling backwards, repeating the word over and over again in his head. It was annoying. Even if his thoughts drifted away, it kept going in the back of his skull. Like when you count numbers, maybe the seconds of time, and even when you reach the needed number the counting continues against your will.

‘No’ was such a funny word too. It forced the tongue to the roof of the mouth, blocking sight passed the lips, which would then curl to create to ‘oh’ sound. 

No, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no.

He could make a song out of it, change the pitches and lengths. And old lullaby sang in his ears.

No, no, no, no.

No, nonono-

No, Loki.

His body tumbled sideways onto the floor.

He was grinning.

No, no, no, no, no-no-no-no-

Someone touched his face.

No. No. No. No.

His tongue tingles, maybe it had pins and needles?

The ground vanished beneath him, and he is flung over a shoulder.

He can’t quite remember the word to say stop, leave him here, he doesn’t want to go.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't do this at home, kids


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A plan is formed

Waking is an altogether unpleasant experience.

His mouth tasted of dust, and as he blinks open strained eyes Loki become very aware of the annoying throbbing sensation deep within his skull.

Well, that may have been a bit of a mistake.

Then again, he has done worse. He is the God of Mischief, not Infinite Wisdom.

Stiffly rising, the blanket falls away from his shoulders, revealing him in a new set of clothes. They are grey and simple, nothing more than the bare basics. Cheap and disposable; they are peasants clothing. For a moment he cannot help but wonder where the clothes he wore when he fell ended up. Probably on some black market by now, or thieved by one of the hospital staff to lord around in. Sitting up in the bed, he runs his hand over the garments. They feel rough beneath his fingers.

In the bed.

In the _bed._

His mind takes an embarrassingly long moment to register that.

Suddenly coming to his senses, Loki all but leaps from the bed, landing on unsteady (socked) feet and taking in the familiar sight of the medical room. A bottle of water has been placed on a counter, and some second-hand boots sit by the door. The whole room is humming, and the air has a strange, chemical smell to it.

A horrible suspicion creeps into Loki’s mind, and before he can even blink Loki finds himself sat back on the bed, mattress bouncing beneath him. His hands begin to worry themselves, fingers picking and pulling at the skin absently.

These people know who he is. They know what he has done. They know where he is from and they know that he is of status. 

They are taking him back to Asgard.

Asgard thinks him dead, so there is no reward on offer for his return. Therefore it is highly likely he is to be ransomed. Quietly, Loki wondered who had made that information page. Who was leaking Asgardian gossip?

Loki is going back to Asgard.

Wetness slides down his cheek without consent and furiously he wipes it away. His nails scrape his cheek.

No. _No_ , he is _not_ going to break. He can fix this. He is Loki, the Silvertongue and the Liesmith. He has halted wars with a few beautifully chosen words. He wooed the courts of Vanaheim before he had even left his tutored lessons. He calmed the fiery maiden seeking Thor’s death after he stood her up. 

With some careful planning, a few choice titbits of information, a delicate tongue, he could convince them to turn around, or take him elsewhere. He could convince them to go somewhere, and then abandon them, leave them stranded on some barren planet. He could lock them away, and flatter his way into the houses of nobles. He could push them out the ship, and sentence them to the fate of the fall.

The tree, Groot, is seemed simple enough, perhaps even a child. While Loki knew better than anyone that appearances could be deceiving, the creature simply did not have enough height, muscle, or magical energy to suggest it was any real threat. It could be crushed underfoot. 

Rocket was also small, but this came with an intelligence that Loki was sure was not a natural occurrence. A creation then, artificial. Rocket knew how to use weapons, which could be tricky, but without them there would be very little he could do. A cage would be ideal. 

Gamora was cold but kind, as proven by her original offer to come with them and have his wound cleaned. She controlled the bickering of the others, and had a mind that processed information quickly. She would be hard to trick, but not impossible. She was guarded, yet if someone was to show that they had gone through a painful experience similar to her past, something that they could talk over together but no one else understood, then maybe a few barriers would come down, leaving her vulnerable. 

Drax came across as all muscles and no brain. Loki had experience with that. While his large bulk and muscles would overpower Loki easily, with the right encouragement and correct illusions, he could use that power against him.

Finally, there was the blond man, whose name Loki had _still_ not discovered. That was becoming infuriating. Loki had not pinned his personality either. He appeared strong, but not overly so like Drax, and smart, but unlike Gamora. He spoke freely, but had more restraint than Rocket. More observation would be needed to find the perfect trick for him.

All he required was his magic.

The skin of Loki’s hand was cracking. He did not notice.

All his resources were diminished at the moment. So far all he had consumed during his time here was a glass of water and some less than satisfactory hallucinogens. Magic was energy, and like all energy it required sustenance to survive. To add to the blow, his body was in a weakened state. Loki tied easily, his feet were unsteady, if he got into a fight there was no way he would be able to slip away unscathed. If he was going to have any chance at trapping or disposing of his captors, then he was going to need time to heal and rest. He was going to need a sustainable source of food.

If they were truly heading towards Asgard, it will take months. In theory he should have plenty of time to restore himself and carry out his plans.

If he is allowed to rest, that is. 

Slavery is not an uncommon notion. If he is a prisoner to be ransomed then there is no way to tell how he may be treated over the coming days and weeks and months.

A passing image of Frigga floats through his mind, and suddenly Loki flinches in pain.

Blood runs between his fingers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey Loki, maybe it’s a good idea not to make assumptions about a situation before knowing the full picture…Just saying


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which we get more plot than 'Loki is scared'

Loki is washing his hand in the sink, trying to dislodge dried blood from under a fingernail, when the sound of static fills the room, followed by the eloquent,

“Yo, asshole, you’re wanted on the bridge.”

It’s the animal, Rocket. Over the interference of the voice it is hard to judge his tone; however it can be safe to say that they will be less than pleased. While his illusions never broke anything, they caused enough annoyance that he could be facing a beating for the trouble.

The boots are a size too large and have soles worn enough that he can feel most of the floor through them. As Loki steps out the medical room door the laces of the left boot slide undone, forcing him to kneel in the corridor to try again. As he does, Loki’s eyes quickly dart about. 

There are metal containers stacked to the side, in an unknown alphabet. Further along the corridor, which is not that large, is a ladder fixed to the wall, leaving to another floor above. To his right is a window, and as Loki stands he is met with the sight of a small, dull purple planet. Clouds create slow moving spirals, some grey with snow and rain, and some the brightest of whites. The planet’s skies are clear, as is the entirety of space around them. There were no other vessels. Stars of various distances shine gently. Far, far away, almost unnoticeable, a swirl of green galaxy spins, unaffected by the comings and goings of the surrounding cosmos. 

The floor no longer feels like it’s beneath him.

Everywhere Loki looks is empty space. There was no debris floating meaninglessly, no asteroids or comets. The silent vacuum rings in his ears, as if drawing him back, making his vision tunnel. Loki’s skin is numb. The smell of ozone and metal filled his lungs.

“You’re literally five steps from the med bay, how’d you get lost?”

Jumping, Loki faces the blond man, who is watching him, arms crossed. Swallowing down the taste of rising bile, he allows a practiced smile to fall onto his face. It’s small, courteous, and polite. 

He tries not to pick at his recently acquired scab. 

“I…Do not believe we have been introduced.” His voice holds the tiniest of wobbles to it, but the general smoothness of his words cover it enough that the man does not notice. Instead, he blinks dumbly, before grinning in a way that screams utter arrogance.

“I don’t know how that happened.” He gave a lopsided smile and holds out his hand. “You can call me Star Lord.”

It is title so obviously made up by the owner that Loki has to physically bite his tongue to withhold the insults piling up against the roof of his mouth. The Star Lord beams from ear to ear, reminding Loki somewhat of Thor when he found out he was to be ‘God of Thunder’.

Loki shakes his hand, and notes how the grip is far too firm. The man has had no practice at formal introductions.

“Star Lord it is, then.”

“Did you hear Rocket call you? The intercom has decided to go on the fritz lately so we weren’t sure...”

“No I heard it, I simply became…Distracted.”

The Star Lord’s smile turns wistful, and he nods towards the window.

“Some view, isn’t it?”

Loki wants nothing more than to throw whitewash across every transparent surface on this vessel.

“Indeed.”

Star Lord decided that they are going to stare out the window for a few moments, probably to ‘take it all in’. Loki keeps his eyes on a spot just below it, feigning examining the planet. Someone has smudged oil there, leaving a dark, greasy mark. Going by the size and height, it was probably Rocket.

The Star Lord sighs.

“Welp, better go join everyone.”

“Yes, I suppose we should.” Loki agrees, trying not to be too quick in doing so.

They go up the ladder and through a few doors, eventually ending up in the control room of the vessel. Rocket is sat down by control panels, the chair swivelled around to face Loki. Groot perches on Rocket’s shoulder, appearing slightly too large to be comfortably sitting there. Drax is standing with an arm resting on a metal bar on the ceiling, and Gamora leans against the wall, arms crossed. On the far side of the room is a large, non-reflective window and the vast nothingness beyond.

Loki hates it.

“Didn’t know you had triplets.” Rocket says in way of greeting.

“I have no blood relations.” Which is true.

“Interesting, ‘cause I read that you have a whole family up in Ass-gard.”

Loki smiles thinly.

“I have no blood relations.” He repeats, and takes a small amount of pleasure in the way Rocket stutters somewhat. Gamora tuts and strolls towards him. His smile slips.

“Why did you run from us?” Her tone tells Loki not to mess with her. He so longs to ignore it, to throw back her question with one of his own. He wants answers, he wants truths, but that would break his polite, humble persona. For the moment, he cannot afford that. Not if he is truly destined to be their ransom. 

They know his history and his deeds, though not the reasoning behind them. There is no point trying to dodge around it.

“You discovered who I was.” His voice is deliberately uncertain as he keeps eye contact with Gamora. “I was on a planet I do not know, with people I could not trust. I was…Unsure, how you would react.”

“So you ran instead of staying to find out?”

Loki lets his teeth nibble at his lip in a deliberately obvious nervous gesture.

“Yes?”

Gamora hums, and glances over to Peter who shrugs in response. The air is awkward and unsure.

“I am _Groot._ ” Groot supplies. Loki cannot help the genuine frown that falls over his features.

“As you have told me.”

Rocket barks a laugh that makes them all jump.

“So much for mister ‘I speak every language’!”

Groot has to hold onto Rocket’s jacket as not to fall off. Beside him, Star Lord huffs. The familiar feeling of being outside a joke crawls up Loki’s spine.

“I do not understand?”

“Groot is dumb and can only say ‘I am Groot’.” Drax supplies unhelpfully.

“ _I am Groot!_ ” Groot shouts, though his voice is not particularly loud, glaring at Drax who glares right back. Gamora hits Drax’s arm.

“Groot is talking to us, but he can only say ‘I am Groot’. Rocket understands him.” She explains, stepping between Groot and Drax as they continue to give each other mean looks. 

Loki blinks, and returns his gaze to Groot, who is muttering angrily to himself.

“Still, even _that_ should be able to work with the Allspeak. I have never met a being it does not effect before…”

All the books on Asgard speak of the importance of the Allspeak, how it can reach every being from everywhere. It was called the _All_ speak, after all. So how could it not work on this creature? The language was made with magic by design, so surely it must be impossible for something not to work. The Allspeak was something of great pride in Asgard; it was used to show their dominance in the Nine Realms, a show of power. Could the scholars of the past have got it wrong?

“We’re getting off topic.” Gamora interrupts his musings, and reluctantly Loki turns his attention back to her. “We got talking after you left, went over a few things. We came to a decision.”

Loki eyes her warily.

“We want to make a deal.” Star Lord explains. “There’s something we need to collect. With your skills, we could get it.”

Glancing between them, a small twist of worry settles into his stomach. This _appears_ genuine; however he has already established that Gamora and Star Lord are intelligent. This deal could be an elaborate trap, to coax him into a false sense of security to disguise true intentions.

“I see.” He finally says, hesitant, looking at Star Lord but watching the others out the corner of his eye. Rocket has gone suspiciously quiet. “And what is it that you would want from me?”

“A distraction.” Star Lord picks up a screen from one of the control panels and hands it to Loki. It is surprisingly heavy in his hands. The image of a large, impressive building gleams up at him. Star Lord nods towards it. “We need to get inside the building and retrieve an artefact; however this place is heavily guarded.”

“And Drax cannot do it because?”

Star Lord smirks.

“Drax will need to deal with any heavily armed forces we come across and keep them at bay.”

“And Rocket? Gamora?”

“There’s more than one security system.” Gamora answers. “Rocket will need to hack into the mainframe to get us in and turn off the alarms around the artefact. He can only do that from the outside. I have to watch Peter’s back while he loads the artefact into its container. Groot is not allowed on missions yet.”

Loki frowned at her.

“Who is Peter?”

“Who is…” Gamora trails off, her expression becoming unamused. “Please tell me you didn’t introduce yourself as _Star Lord._ ”

“Hey!” The man, _Peter_ , exclaims. “It’s an awesome name-”

“It is a stupid name.” Drax interrupts. “Only an idiot calls himself that.”

“Says the guy who calls himself Drax the Destroyer. What kind of name is that anyway? It’s totally unoriginal!”

“I have killed hundreds; it is a title I have earned!”

A verbal argument breaks out, and at some point Groot has wanders away from Rocket to start kicking Drax’ in the foot. The plant is so small that it barely does anything, but still Drax pushes him away using his boot. Groot angrily spits something out to Rocket, which effectively drags the animal into the fight. Soon, the three of them are shouting at one another. Groot takes to flinging small objects at Drax’s head.

Gamora makes her way through the chaos and gives him a long-suffering expression. 

“I work with literal children.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For this chapter I had to google ‘What does space smell like?’ Apparently it’s seared steak, hot metal, and welding fumes.
> 
> I decided not to have “the smell of steak filled his lungs”


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gamora makes a speech - It's badass

The argument continues.

The screen is heavy in his hands, and Loki uses the moment to examine the mansion these people wish to enter, _if_ that is their true motive.

There are many, many pictures. Using his finger, Loki carefully manipulates the device to flick through them, as he saw Peter do not too long ago. Corridors filled with treasures appear under his touch, as do heavily metal vaults, and images of men dressed in black. Eventually, he comes across the image of a golden crown. It is sat heavily on a silk cushion, and the metal is embedded with hundreds of pure white gemstones. 

“The Ilonian Crown, made hundreds of years ago.” Gamora informs him, now ignoring the shouting going on around them. “Those gems?” She does something with her fingers on the screen, and the image zooms into the sparkling stones. “These are Lilly Jewels, worth thousands on the right market. Normally this is too high tech for us, but we have a client willing to pay double the normal amount if we can bring them the crown.”

“I’m afraid I still fail to see what you want from me.” Loki pulls away from her, uneasy at the sudden closeness. “Nor what I would be receiving in return.”

Gamora holds out her hand, and Loki passes over the screen. She taps on it several times, before giving it back. The device now has a picture of a small, compact room. The walls are made of thick metal, and odd red lines criss-cross around the crown, now in a glass case. Still confused, Loki glances at Gamora.

“We can get into the vault easy enough, but someone has to redirect those lasers so they don’t touch us while we are breaking the glass and set off the alarm. That’s why there needs to be two of us.”

“Right…”

“Drax can only keep people at bay for so long, and they will catch on pretty quickly that Rocket is messing with their security cameras. What we would want you to do,” Loki actively has to loosen his shoulders, having hunched them without noticing. “Is to create those holograms you made yesterday, and set them running around the place.”

He swallows, trying to judge her eyes.

“Holograms?”

Gamora blinks.

“The hologr-“ She cuts herself off. “You know, the different versions of you?”

“My _illusions?"_

“Whatever you call them.” She sighs tiredly, “If you were to have them leading the guards away, causing confusion, then we would be able to reach and take the artefact a lot quicker.”

Somewhere, deep inside Loki, something twists in glee. It has been months (years? Centuries?) since he caused some proper mischief, had masterminded an act of pure chaos. As he and Thor had grown the councils had become stifling, acting wounded upon every prank, no matter how petty and small it was. Odin had approached him on the matter, demanding it be done with, “Left in the realms of childhood”, if Loki remembered correctly. His mother too had come to him, using gentle words to convince the matter. 

Now he was being given permission. Dizzying, delicious permission to cause disorder, and terror, and _fun._

But…

“I ask again, what am I receiving in return?”

Gamora studies him, and suddenly Loki feels the delight die within his stomach. He cannot trust this, he reminds himself, and he cannot let his guard down. These people may be luring him in. They know who he is, undoubtedly know his title, they surely must understand that something like this would attract his attention, like a honeybee to fruit. 

“In return,” Gamora says, putting her hands on her hips. “We would offer you accommodation, food, clothing. We would get you everything you need for the mission. And afterwards, you would get a share of the cut.”

It is tempting.

It is so, _so_ tempting.

It’s almost unfair.

Part of Loki wants this. He wants to go can create trouble at this mansion. He wants to have his skills in magic be useful and appreciated. He wants to be rewarded afterwards, to walk away with enough money to get himself sorted, to last him for more than a few nights.

But he also cannot trust these people. He cannot. Lies are easy things to sow, and they have had a whole night to go over the minute details of an elaborate plan. They have deliberately taken him upon their ship and flown off world, so he cannot run from them, decline them. They are manipulating his needs to their advantage.

“If I refuse…” He says in a steady voice, locking eyes with Gamora. “If I decided that this was not for me, if I turn away from this offer, what would happen then?”

“Firstly, there’s no need to speak theoretical.” She sounds insulted by that. “Secondly, we would fly back to port and drop you off. What you decide to do then is your own choice.”

Somehow, Loki cannot believe that. He feels his voice turning hard, the uneasy persona falling in favour of something smooth and dangerous.

“You know exactly who I am. You know what deeds I have done.” He is prodding the hornet’s nest here, with a very short stick. “How can I possibly trust that you will not simply take me back to Asgard, in chains and tatters? How can I trust that you are not going to stab me when I am looking elsewhere, and sell me on some black market?”

In the name of the Norns he hopes he has not just filled her pretty little head with unsavoury ideas.

Gamora watches him.

“I am Gamora.” Her tone is even, controlled. “I am the adopted daughter of Thanos the Mad Titan, the most powerful being in the universe. He killed every member of my species and my parents before my eyes, and cybermetically turned me into an assassin. He would make me fight his other children, punishing those who lost by ripping them apart. He made me into a weapon, and I killed hundreds under his watch.“ 

Only now does Loki realise that it has gone silent around them. Peter is sat in a chair, Drax has his arms crossed, and Rocket is on his feet. Groot is over by the window. All four are quietly listening to Gamora, who has stalked up to Loki.

“I understand second chances.” She pushes, “I know how hard it is to trust others once you have been branded. I know how little you believe in us.”

She stands back a bit and suddenly all eyes are on him.

“So, from one murderer to another,” Gamora puts forward her hand, waiting. “Do we have a deal?”

Lies. So much of this could be lies and mere theatre.

But his other options are so limited, so unappetising, that he allows for his impulses to thrust his hand into hers. Her grip is solid, but not overpoweringly so.

“When do we start?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gamora is awesome and I love her


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's naptime

He is given a tour of the ship, which is not as intriguing as it would seem. Still, he absently makes note of each of the rooms: The bridge is busy with devices he does not understand and contains the table he saw a day ago, and the kitchen is small and a little too grubby for his standards, but useable. The storage area and loading bay is cluttered but not unsafely so, and the bathroom has no actual bath, appearing to be a wet room more than anything. The bedroom is communal. 

He can only stare at his bunk in distaste.

Gamora hands him some fresh bedsheets.

“You can pull the curtain across, when we’re docked.” She tells him, as if that will solve anything, “But when we’re in space Peter and Drax like to have it open.”

“If they like the stars, maybe we should swap?” He takes the bedding from her and offers a hopeful expression, “I have no use for the stars.”

Gamora shrugs.

“Peter has a thing about not sleeping by an open window, and don’t ask, because he’ll get stroppy.”

“And Drax?”

“When his daughter died, he held her in his arms and told her to look at the stars.” Gamora’s voice becomes softer. “He did use to sleep here, but I think it got a bit much, and he moved over there.” She indicates a bunk across the room.

“Oh.”

Curse them all to Hel, may they _rot_ in her wrath.

“Dinner is in half an hour, I’ll leave you to get settled.”

With that Gamora leaves, and Loki is alone in the room, holding his bundle of thin bedsheets while galaxies drift passed the window. They have left the purple planet behind now, heading towards an outpost Peter knows of where they can gain supplies for the mission. Far in the distance, a lone comet glides silently.

Suddenly remembering to breathe, Loki snaps the curtains shut and gets to work making the bed.

When he had first been shown the room, Rocket had made a passing comment on royalty and not lifting a finger. The joke, if it can be called that, is on Rocket. Loki _has_ done his fair share of work in the past, and knows how to make a bed thank you very much. It is considered bad manners to leave ones room in a mess when visiting another home or Realm, and it is an easy enough habit to fall back into. Anyway, Loki has always preferred clean, orderly quarters. Making the bed in the morning was something he had even done in his few days as King.

The less discussed on Thor’s room in their teenage years the better.

From the floor above him, the brig, he can hear music. It is something slow, with a lot of repetition and easy notes. Peter is singing along too loud, the brashness of his voice clashing with the saddening tone of the singer.

Bed made, Loki carefully sits, minding not to crease the neat sheets. He keeps his back firmly to the window, despite the closed curtains. Fingers absently trace the seam of his sleeve. Gamora promised to buy him better clothes and shoes once they reach the outpost, so he will be out of these hand-me-downs soon. 

Which will be good.

The room hums with the engines around him.

Loki breaths through his nose and out through his mouth.

He will have to try out the shower at some point, and finally give his hair a proper wash.

In. Out.

The breathing technique is something his mother had taught him when he first began using spells. It is meant to help concentration. 

Slowly, Loki lies down. The shoes slide off his feet without needing to be undone.

In. Out.

He has not had proper rest in days. Some sleep would do him good, and he has time to kill before the evening meal. Interacting with his new hosts holds very little appeal. 

Arm over his eyes, unconsciousness takes him swiftly, violently, painfully.

Loki dreams in black and purple and white. He dreams of the sound of wind blowing against his ears, and his hair flying into his face. He dreams of flashing neon and loud voices. The sky is falling in on top of him like a collapsing ceiling. The ground is vibrating. 

There is a person crying, a short distance away, but whenever he turns to try and find them, they have vanished as if fog against a strong breeze. It sounds like a woman, soft and heartbroken. He reaches out a hand, stumbling forward, trying to find her. Something is clouding his vision, and he cannot…He cannot see. Everything is smudged; there are no definite lines to anything. He cannot tell where he is. It is becoming dark.

He cannot see, _he cannot se-_

“I am Groot.”

Loki jerks, limbs spasming, as something touches his face. Blinking in a daze, he sits up, hands coming to hold his face. The room is dark, save for the light of the corridor through the open door. It is silent.

“I _am_ Groot?”

Through his fingers, Loki can see that Groot is stood on his bed, regarding him with curious eyes. Sucking in a breath through his nose, he allows a polite expression fall over his face as he gradually lowers his hands. Groot smiles at him.

“I am Groot.”

“It is bizarre,” Loki says quietly, swallowing to rid his mouth of the horrible dryness of sleep. “That the Allspeak does not affect you.”

“I am Groot?”

“Indeed.” Swinging his feet off the bed, he picks up the boots from where they fell and slides them back on. In complete honesty, he does not wish to go anywhere. He does not know how long he was asleep for, however he fears it was longer than the half an hour he had before they dined. The bed calls to him, and there is a soft longing within his chest to curl up under the sheets. Not necessarily to sleep, mind, but to just to seek the unrealistic feeling of safety that comes with a blanket overhead and a pillow.

Over the years, Loki had quietly prided himself at being able to force himself to do the things he did not particularly want to do. As a teenager that had consisted of dragging himself from his bed in the early hours to attend court meetings while Thor slept until midday. Later, it was exchanging pleasantries at banquets where he would rather be strangling the guests than entertaining. 

And so, Loki helps Groot onto his shoulder (because he has seen the others do it, and worries on kicking the creature accidentally and spiking the wrath of Rocket) and leaves the room.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mr Sandman, bring me a dream~


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's dinner time, kinda

The kitchen was empty when Loki walked in, and a spark of relief washes over him for that fact. The suspicion that privacy is a luxury on a compact ship has been building for the past few hours, and the tight sleeping quarters and work space only strengthen it. Loki must have overslept, missing the undoubtedly communal meal.

Still, on the table is a lone pot with a glass lid and a bowl and spoon.

Lifting the lid, a rush of steam greets Loki as well as the sight of a thick, greyish soup. Vegetables float inside it, blue and brown in colour. After holding a hand out for Groot and placing him on the table (dropping him into hot soup would probably go down worse than kicking him), he serves himself a small helping.

As he sits, back to the window, Loki’s thoughts drift through his memories to his last meal, the one he had as King of Asgard. It was the night before Loki set the Frost Giants loose, the night before he showed them the route to Odin’s chambers. It had been venison, if he remembered correctly, and potatoes. His mother had joined him halfway through, forcing his distracted picking into proper eating. Loki had not finished the meal, and had blamed the recent revelations for his low appetite. At such a raw subject matter, his mother had dropped the issue.

Loki stared into the bowl before him now, watching the strange vegetables bob around under his spoon as he stirred it absently.

“I am Groot?”

“Hm?” Loki hums, dragging his gaze away from the meal to Groot, who is standing the other side of the bowl. 

“I am Groot?” Groot asks him again, the only thing suggesting that it is a question being the slightly raised tone at the end. Once more Loki marvels at the lack of translation by the Allspeak.

“I’m afraid I do not understand what you are asking of me.” He finds himself sighing. “Do you know how to mime?”

Groot points to his bowl, and repeats whatever it is he is trying to communicate. Blinking at the bowl, Loki carefully fills his spoon and offers it to the plant.

“I’m sorry, did you want…?”

Groot rolls his eyes, shakes his head, and points between the spoon and Loki.

“Am…I going to eat it?”

“Oh for- He wants to know why you're not eating!” 

The harsh voice initially startles Loki, but he by some miracle manages to swallow down the bark of annoyance that rises in his throat. Rocket clambers into a chair opposite him, and Groot goes running over happily.

“So that’s where you’ve been, hanging out with Mister Tall, Dark, and Brooding.” 

( _“Come, brother, you cannot brood away every ill of the world!”_ )

“I am Groot!”

“Yeah, yeah, here ya go.” Rocket produces a small, yellow thing from his jacket pocket, which Groot takes eagerly, sitting down to begin nibbling at it in vigour. Rocket scoffs. “Just promise me that you’ll annoy Star Brain when you get a rush later.”

“I am Groot.”

“Yeah, you better.”

They seem to have forgotten that Loki is sat there, still holding the spoon in his hand. The idea of slinking away enters his mind. He could go make use of the bathroom, and finally give his hair a much needed wash.

The idea dies as Rocket fixes his eye onto him.

Loki refuses to shrink under the gaze of a forest animal.

“So, you’re in on the mission then.” 

“Yes.”

“Huh.”

They sit there awkwardly. 

“Why did you miss dinner?”

“I fell asleep.”

“Right.”

Another pause and it is only from years of sitting through tense negotiation meetings that Loki does not squirm under the increasingly hard expression. Groot is happily oblivious, munching away on his treat. The room hums around them. Eventually, Rocket either sees or cannot find whatever it is he is looking for and snaps.

“You know, I can’t pin ya. One minute, you’re walking around with a stick so far us your ass that it pokes out your mouth.” Loki internally grimaces at that image, but his face remains passive. “The next you’re doing…” He gestures towards Loki. “This.”

“This?”

“Moping, hiding away.” He stands up on the chair, hands on the table. “What’s your game, Princess?”

_Princess?_

“I do not have a game.”

“Yeah?”

“It is the truth.”

“According to my research you’re the God of _Lies_. Strangely, I don’t believe ya.”

A squirming sensation blooms in Loki’s chest, but he pushes it away. He pushes it down, deep within himself, were all the other unwanted feelings are banished, the needless emotions that are of no benefit. The ones he does not have the patience for.

Loki is standing and talking before he can even blink.

“Listen to me, rodent. I do not plan on causing trouble. I do not plan on betraying this deal. I do not plan on playing any _game_ and I do not plan on losing out on my reward.” Rocket has crossed his arms, regarding him with a new apprehension. Only now does Loki register the fact that he has lent over the small table, and is looming over the much smaller creature. Groot has stopped eating.

“I am not going to pretend to that we will be drinking partners by the end of this little endeavour. However, I do expect us to behave as _adults_ , and to give each other the smallest shred of respect. We do not need to speak unless necessary, we do not need to work together outside reaching our goal. I will give you your space, if you give me mine. This can be our deal. Will you take it, or is life about to become unliveable in this compact vessel for the entire time I am here?”

As Loki straightens up, Groot stands and tosses his treat at Rocket’s head, making the animal stutter and bristle.

“Hey!”

“I am Groot!”

Rocket’s face goes from annoyance to bewilderment.

“You cannot be-”

“I am _Groot!_ ”

“Ugh, fine!” Rocket holds out a hand at Loki. “Fine. I’ll play, Princess. You stay out of my way, I’ll stay outta yours.”  
They shake; Loki’s much larger hand engulfing Rocket’s strange animal digits. 

“Deal?”

“Deal.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> “Once again Loki marvels” – Haha, get it? MARVELS? I’m funny goddamn it
> 
> I had to give a lot of thought into Rocket and Loki’s relationship. They are such polar opposites, but they are also too similar for their own good. For a while I did want Rocket to be a bit of an asshole to Loki, but that would not work for the long term and ultimately was scrapped in favour of them making this deal. Yes, Rocket is impulsive, but he is also smart and that last line of Loki’s speech (“Will you take it, or is life about to become unliveable in this compact vessel for the entire time I am here?”) caught his attention. 
> 
> Also, Groot’s “If you two argue for the entire trip I’m going put fire ants in both your beds” helped.


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Time for bed

Loki ends up going to bed without eating that night, having lost his appetite after the little confrontation. He did manage, however, to finally rid his hair of the horrific vacuum of space smell. It has been replaced with the scent of some wildflower, though the he strongly suspects that the product does not give the flower justice. His hair now smells artificial, but seeing how that is far better than the alternative, Loki decides not to complain. 

Now, he lies in bed, clean but awake, rolled onto his side so he is facing the room. Behind him, the curtains are open.

Drax is dead asleep across from him, snoring in a way that is neither annoying nor pleasant. After years of listening to Thor every night for weeks at a time, it is not a strange sound to his ears and is not something bothersome enough to deprive Loki of sleep. But it is still a noise catching his attention nonetheless, keeping his mind awake.

Gamora is on her side and curled into the wall, shoulders moving slowly as she dreams. She has platted her hair back into a single thick braid, and drawn the covers tight around her.

Peter has already lost half his blanket to the floor, and has one arm flung across his eyes, mouth hanging open and dribbling.

Rocket has managed to scrunch himself into a ball by the pillow end of his bunk, Groot happily asleep the other end with the majority of the covers swamping his tiny body.

An annoying glow is shining through the dark room from the window, and it had only taken a few moments after the overhead lights were put out for his eyes to adjust. It was probably better than lying wide awake in the pitch black, but the irritation of having the curtains wide open behind him irks him more than the comfort of light. Loki rarely found himself to be completely still while sleeping, usually waking in some position he did not lay down in. If he was to rest now, he could be waking to a face full of stars, and depending on whatever his mind decided to depict tonight, that may result badly.

Loki’s eyes droop.

His body needs rest, especially with the upcoming mission. He cannot deny himself sleep, he knows this, but still…

Eventually, Loki decides to allow himself to drift, the covers pulled over his head.

His dreams are filled with-

His dreams are filled with-

His dreams are filled with-

His dreams are filled with-

Loki snaps upright, hands tight on the sheets, as a harsh yellow lights snap on overhead. He finds himself breathing deeply though his mouth, his throat strangely raw. Loki has to make the conscious effort to blink.

Gamora is hovering by his bed, squatting down on one knee.

“Loki?”

Bile is rising in his throat, and to save the risk of it raising any further he snaps his mouth shut and simply meets her eyes in way of responding. Only now does he notice that Peter is stood by control panel for the lights, and Drax, Rocket and Groot are watching from their beds. 

Curse them. May they _rot_ in unmarked and unloved graves in the barren wastelands-

Gamora catches his eye again.

“You were screaming.”

The threat of vomiting has lowered somewhat from critical to ‘provoke me and you will not like the consequences’, so he tests the waters by unlocking his mouth. 

“I apologise.” His jaw feels unhinged, his teeth ache.

“Is everything ok?”

“Yes.” He confirms too quickly, internally wincing at the fact. “Apologies, it has been a tiring few days.”

“My Mom used to give me warm milk after a nightmare.” Peter pipes up from where he is still standing. Loki   
concentrates on breathing slowly and deeply. His hands have yet to loosen on the bedsheets. “Dunno if we have any milk, but there’s some Ilikian Juice which is pretty good hot.”

“My father used to make us attack the tree in the garden.” Drax adds, examining Loki with eyes that suddenly seem far too intelligent for what little credit Loki gave him. “We have a punching bag.”

“That will not be necessary.” Loki tries to place a reassuring expression on his face. If it works is another story. “I am truly fine, thank you for your concern. Please, return to your beds.”

Rocket makes some odd huffing sound and instantly settles back down.

Gamora hovers like a fly to a corpse.

It’s _pathetic._

“Honestly.” He says to her, voice lower. “Please, go back to sleep.”

“Gamora?” Peter asks, hand hovering over the lights uncertainly. Gamora’s calculating gaze narrows, but she quickly sighs and stands.

“If you are sure you’re ok.”

“I am.”

“Ok.” She moves back to her bed, and Peter takes that as his que to flick off the lights. “Goodnight.”

A chorus of “goodnights” or simply “night” answer her, though Loki is not one of them. Instead he falls back onto the bed, finally managing to pry tight fingers from his blanket to pull his arms over his chest. He can feel his heart thumping against his palm.

Lying on his back he is able to see through the window from the corner of his eye, is able to spy the little glowing balls shining dully as the ship quietly steers them towards the outpost. For a moment, he stares out the window, seemingly transfixed, hypnotised, enchanted at the sight of the cosmos around him. He his breathing through his mouth again, his throat is stinging again, his hands are tightening their grip on his arms-

Loki violently rolls over, and it is only as he closes his eyes does he realises his cheeks are wet.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Vacuum of Space Shampoo and Conditioner, now available in all good stores


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ever wondered how banking works in space? Read and find out!

The following morning, Loki skips breakfast.

Instead, he makes use of the shower once more, taking the time and effort to wash away the sweat of the nightmares that had plagued him and caused an undignified scene. He spends some extra time with his hair, standing in front of the mirror and running a thin-toothed comb he found on the side to brush it into place, smoothing out the ends. 

It has grown somewhat, he realises. On Asgard it had been near the nape of his neck, but now he found it just touching his shoulders. Yes, Loki’s hair had always been a steady grower, but he had only needed to trim it a handful of times a year. It had been fine when he fell, had he really been flying through the cosmos for such a length of time for it to actually have grown such a considerable amount?

Loki leaves the comb where he found it, making sure to leave no trace of his hair tangled among the teeth.

As he goes to leave, Loki nearly trips over a small pile of clothes sat on the floor outside the door. They have been folded neatly, and are clearly intended for him, though Loki never heard anyone approach the bathroom. The trousers are worn but not unsightly, and the long-sleeved top is dark blue with the alphabet Loki cannot read scribed across the front. A black leather jacket accompanies them, though he finds them slightly long at the sleeves. Still, they fit, and are a lot more slightly than the grey clothes he was given before, which he suspects to be a training or workout outfit.

On his way to his bunk to leave his other set of clothes, he bumps into Peter.

“Hey, they fit!” Peter exclaims, stopping in the corridor so he can look Loki up and down. He spies the sleeves, which Loki had to fold. “Well, mostly. We’ll be seeing Ghilda when we get there, she’ll tailor some stuff that actually _fits_. But until then you can borrow those. If she saw you walk around in those slacks,” He indicates to the grey clothing. “She would kill me on the spot.”

“Once I have my share of the profits, I shall repay you the costs of the items.” Loki has the clothes hugged to his chest, and can’t help glancing at the door to the sleeping area behind Peter. “And I will return these to you as soon as I can.”

“Sure dude, whatever. Also, hey,” Peter taps his shoulder in a friendly gesture. Loki angles himself away. “Remind me to get you hooked up on the online accounts later, so we can transfer the money over to you.”

“Ok?”

Peter goes to continue walking wherever he was heading, and for a brief second Loki thought himself free, but suddenly Peter backtracks to Loki’s side again. 

“You…Do have banking on Asgard, right?”

“Most people keep all their wealth on their person or in their houses.” Loki explains calmly, still holding the clothes to his chest. “The idea of having an organisation which holds your earnings for you doesn’t exist on Asgard.”

“How do you know about it then?”

“I read about it, in the library. It is something practised elsewhere in the Nine Realms.”

“Huh. Well, you’ll have to do it out here; none of our money is physical.”

Loki blinks at him, a frown tugging at his expression.

“I do not think I understand.”

“Look.” Peter digs into his pocket and holds out a small purple stick. Taking it into his hand (the other holding his clothes), Loki runs his fingers over it. It is lightweight, but clearly compact with wires and circuitry. One end is silver, with some strange holes dug into it. 

“What is it?” He asks, handing it back to Peter.

“It has several thousand units on it.”

“Units?” 

“Um, how do I explain this?” Peter waves a hand about in thought. “Like…Ok, what’s a standard Asgard coinage?”

“Excuse me?”

“Like, what do you pay in?”

Loki is becoming increasingly confused with this conversation.

“Coins?”

“Right, no, um…” Peter is glancing around, and Loki gets the distinct feeling that Peter would rather be anywhere but here at the moment. He lets his thumb trail over his fingernails at the thought.

“If it helps, our pricing system works with the metal from which the coins are forged. Gold is worth the highest, tin the lowest.” 

Peter clicks his fingers.

“Ok, so if you have a certain amount of low grade coins, does that make up for one gold coin? Can you stack them?”

“Yes?”

“Right, well a unit,” Peter holds up the device again. “Is a standard singular coin. We don’t have stacking. You have one gold coin is however many tin, we just have the one. And you need lots of the one to make a lot, you follow?”

“I do.”

“We also do not have physical money. This stick?” He waves the device around for emphasis. “Holds several thousand units. When we pay for something, we either give them the stick for them to remove the needed units, or go onto our online account and transfer them over into the other person’s account. Either way, the amount on the stick and the amount online will sync up.”

“I see. That is very different from Asgard then.”

It is also stupid, unnecessary, overly complicated-

“Thought it would be.” Peter pockets the stick once more, and gives Loki an overconfident grin as if he just accomplished something worthy. “So, remind me later to get you set up.”

“I shall.”

“Cool. We’ll reach Bunla soon, so you might want to grab a bite to eat now. They serve up some freaky stuff there and honestly I would _not_ recommend.”

The thought of food churns something in Loki’s gut. 

“I am fine for eating, thank you.”

Peter looks as if he is going to continue this already far too long conversation, so Loki fixes him with a smooth smile and escapes into the sleeping quarters. He makes a point to keep his back to Peter, who hovers in the corridor for a moment before eventually walking away. 

Loki waits until he hears the muffled sound of talking from the room above his head before letting out a long breath. Dumping the clothes onto the bed, he allows his fingers to massage at his temples. 

The constant badgering, the insistent questions, all of these are beginning to wear into him. Having to explain every single thing Asgard does and consistently not understanding the items and technology around him is very quickly losing any shred of appeal it may have had. The sooner this mission can be completed, the sooner Loki can leave.

And go where? Even if Loki leaves, that is hardly going to be the end of his troubles. Wherever he gets dropped off by these people (dumped, abandoned, stranded), he is going to be at a disadvantage. Having money can only get one so far in life; he will need knowledge of the people he is among. He will need to understand their politics, if they are civilised enough to have politics, and he will need to know the social norms and taboos. He will need to be able to understand them. If that useless plant is anything to go by, then there are languages are unaffected by the Allspeak.

(For the briefest of seconds, Loki wishes he had never let go, had never left Asgard, had never allowed himself to go tumbling over the Bifrost’s edge…)

The damn curtains are open.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Stay tuned for the next thrilling chapter, ‘Agricultural Differences between Asgard and Outer Space, a Discussion.’
> 
> …Honestly I didn’t intend for this entire chapter to be finance of all things


	14. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Get in loser, we're going shopping

Eventually, they reach Bunla.

It is a crowded, unruly place. As they enter the docking area, they pass several large vessels, the paintwork worn and the crew fierce enough to rival some of Asgard’s less savoury warriors. Peter has shrugged on a long red leather coat, strapping a form of weapon to his belt. As they are all stand on the bridge, Loki suddenly notices that they are all branding weapons on their person.

“Is this a violent place?” He asks Gamora quietly, who is to his right, “Only you all appear to be fully armed.”

She shrugs in response. “In these backwater galaxies, there are very few people who can be trusted. You can’t be too cautious.”

“Should I be armed as well?”

“You’ll be with Peter the whole time, so I wouldn’t worry.”

Ah yes, the man who first introduced himself as ‘Star Lord’. Loki has dealt with the arrogant, overconfident type before. 

He has to physically pull his picking hands apart.

They dock, and the engines are cut.

“Right!” Peter exclaims, rubbing his hands together. “Gamora, Drax, Rocket, you guys will ne-”

“I am Groot!”

A pause.

“Gamora, Drax, Rocket, _and Groot_ , you guys will be meeting our contact in half an hour.” Peter presses something on his wrist, and an illusion appears from a small device Loki had not noticed previously. He frowns as Peter begins to touch the thin air, the image behaving like the screens they used to show him their target. Not just an illusion, then?

“What is he, a security guard?” Rocket stands near the edge of the little circle they have fallen into, arms crossed. For the first time Loki notes how small a creature he is, when he is not on top of anything to appear taller. 

“A _corrupt_ security guard.” Peter corrects, looking up from his screen. “He wouldn’t say exactly how, but he’s related to our client. I got the impression he might be in line for the inheritance.”

“So he’s going to let us steal the crown, let our client sell it and get the money, and then kill them an inherit the lot?” Gamora states blandly.

“Yep.”

“What a coward.” Drax declares to no one in particular. Peter gives him some form of confused expression but doesn’t comment.

“Will we have to pay them for the information too?” Rocket pipes up. When he is quiet, it is very easy to forget he is there, especially as he doesn’t reach anywhere near their heights. Groot has lent down from Rocket’s shoulder and is trying to extend an arm to the pocket Rocket had produced the treat from yesterday. Rocket shoots him a look, and Groot brings his arm back, pouting.

“He might try and make you, but don’t.” Peter shakes his head. “Remind him that without the floorplans and intel we can’t get in, and if we can’t get in then there’s nothing to inherit.”

“And what are you and his highness going to do?” Drax asks, and it takes a second for Loki to realise that the title was said in full seriousness, not jest. He cannot decide if he is flattered, or unamused.

“We’re going to get him some proper clothes.” Peter answers, nodding towards Loki and tapping at the illusion again. “Then we’re going to make a visit to the weapons market. This,” He pats the weapon on his belt. “Needs an upgrade, and Loki will need something as well.”

Yet another debt to fall upon Loki’s shoulders. How perfect.

“Keep your line open.” Gamora says, and suddenly the group has made a move towards to door leading to the loading bay, forcing Loki to play catch up at the back, “We will meet you back here in an hour.” 

“An hour.” Peter agrees, and with that they leave the ship and go their separate ways. Peter slings an arm around Loki’s shoulders. “C’mon, let’s go find Ghilda.”

Loki shrugs the arm off, and smiles politely but pointedly.

“After you.”

Peter turns his back to Loki before he can catch his expression, but by the way he dejectedly stuffs his hands into his pockets Loki can tell he had been put out.

At the moment Loki cannot fathom the will to care.

In a sense this outpost is very similar to the planet Loki landed on (if, indeed he had landed there. The details of that little event were somewhat blurred, for all Loki knew he could have been picked up floating in space and dropped off at the hospital). There are bars with people standing in the windows wearing questionable attire, and the air is nearly thick with a sweet, smokey smell. There is no snow here, however, and instead there is simply a well-trod earth road to follow around. 

This outpost has more shops than the other as well. Passing one avenue Loki spots a food market (though nothing there looks at all appetising), and a number of stalls are set up in random places selling technology and pieces of equipment.

Peter stops outside a brick building.

“We’re here!” He announces briefly, before pushing open the door. A bell rings. “Hey, Ghilda!”

Following Peter, Loki is met with the sight of a _ghastly_ looking woman. She is yellow, to start with, with big black dots marring her skin. Her eyes are slitted, and, most noticeable of all, she had six arms. These do not extend one each from the torso, but rather branch of what Loki supposes is a ‘main arm’, like branches from a tree trunk. It’s nauseating. 

This creature flashes a grin at Peter.

“Oh my boy, how are you?” She has been sat behind a workbench, but quickly stands to wrap all six arms awkwardly around Peter. “How is everyone?”

“We’re all good. Brought you a customer.” Peter pulls out the hug and gestures in Loki’s direction. “This is Loki. He is in need of a few outfits.”

Ghilda’s gaze passes over Loki.

“I see…” Loki does not like her tone. “What kind of outfits are we looking for?”

“Casual wear, something athletic, and something smart.”

“No.” Loki cuts in, making Ghilda’s eyes narrow at him. “I will only require the single outfit. A whole wardrobe will neither be practical nor needed.”

“Ooh, isn’t he a barrel of laughs?” She says to Peter before strolling over. “Clothing for your…activities will hardly be comfortable, sweetheart.” Loki bristles at the nickname. “It would be wise to own something else.”

“No. Firstly, once I have completed my task with Peter and his associates, I will be traveling by myself. Carrying multiple sets of clothing will not be easy and will waste time.” Loki has spent many summers adventuring with Thor and his friends, and most of that time has been spent with a single outfit. By the time Loki leaves these people, his magic should be fully restored. If needs be, he can simply throw a convincing illusion over his attire. 

“Secondly,” He continues, “I am more than used to wearing clothing suited to being worn to multiple occasions.” Which is true. His usual green leathers were often worn for council meetings, feasts, and as an everyday, smart wear suitable for a Prince. “Therefore, a single outfit will suffice.”

Also, it means he won’t owe Peter any more units than he needs to.

Ghilda does not look impressed.

“If you say so.” She says, clearly thinking the opposite. “You will need to be measured for size, come with me.”

Loki is taken into a back room, filled with pieces of cloth, threads, and a number of other tools. Ghilda closes the door and swipes up a measuring tape from a table.

“If you could just…” She stops when Loki changes his stance for her. “Yes, like that. You’ve done this before then.”

With every growth spurt.

“I have.” Is all he offers her, standing still as she takes the required measurements. She mutters to herself as she does so, using all six hands to hold the tape this way and that.

“Any preference to materials?” She asks distantly, “Or colour?”

“Green and black.” Loki’s mouth blurts before he can check himself. “As for material, I suppose leather, with a softer material on the inside.”

Briefly, he thinks of a cape, but quickly scraps that idea. While leathers seem to be fairly common in this area of space (Loki has seen most people wearing them in some form or another), he has seen very little of capes. The last thing he needs is to advertise his royal status for every crook to see.

“Green and black, very fancy.” She mutters, now bent down by his feet getting his calf width. “You’re a bit skinny, sweetheart.” 

Loki offers her no comment to that.

Eventually she stands, wrapping the measuring tape around a hand and neatly setting it down.

“You sure you what the single outfit made of leather? I could-”

“Thank you, but I am sure.”

Her expression says something that Loki cannot be bothered to interpret, and they leave the room. Peter has sat himself down in a chair.

“All done. I’ve got no other clients at the moment so I shall start right away.” Ghilda moves over to a notebook sat on the workbench. Picking it up, she flips through the pages. “Let’s see, using these materials, and this amount of…” She grabs a pencil from the workbench, and jots something down. “Ok, that should be around five hundred units.”

“You’ll get paid once it’s finished.” Peter says, and Ghilda raises an eyebrow and smirks.

“Those boys raised you well.”

They shake hands, and then Peter and Loki leave. The same arm finds its way around Loki’s shoulders once more.

“So, what’s your fighting style?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ghilda you're perfect and don't let Loki tell you otherwise


	15. Chapter 15

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which characters have one hell of a potty mouth

“You don’t have blasters in Asgard?”

Loki glances up from the weapon in his hand. It’s heavy, clunky, and feels unnatural in his palm. According to Peter, there is a trigger that requires pressing in order to shoot a blast at a person or object. 

“No.” 

Gungnir was able to fire energy at people, but that was ultimately designed merely to channel and amplify the King’s magic, not create any itself. The same could be said for the weapons brandished by most guards. After all, every Aesir carried a little magic within them.

Though, Loki was no longer counted within that, was he?

“That sucks.” Peter states bluntly and holds out a hand for the blaster, turning it over with a critical eye. “You know, this is in pretty good nick and doesn’t look like it’ll kick too much.” He aims it at nothing in particular, looking down the weapon. “Dead straight as well. If you wanted a starting weapon, it might not be a bad choice.”

Loki ponders it for a moment.

“While that may be true, I have a very limited amount of time to learn how to brandish such an object. It would be far better to get something I know,” He waves a hand at the throwing knives lain out on the stall, “Than one I do not.”

“Thing is, everyone’s got a blaster, or something freakier.” Peter is still fiddling with the weapon, now clicking open sections and peering inside as if he will find something extraordinary within. “Knives can only get you so far. Where you’re from they may be better, but out here they would only be effective in close quarters.”

“I suppose there is truth in that.”

The stall owner casts them a bored look from the other side of the table, sighing deeply and switching on the strange illusion screen that appears from the wrist. Loki raises an eyebrow at the rude hospitality; they are paying customers after all. 

“Let’s have a look at those blades, we could-” Peter suddenly yelps loudly, dropping the blaster onto the table and spinning on the spot. Something goes whizzing in a loop around Loki’s head like a wasp before thrusting itself into Peter’s face. Instantly Peter has his hands up in the universal gesture of peace. An odd red trail dissolves within the air.

“Hey, hey c’mon man!” Peter is blabbering, “Not cool, _really_ not cool!”

The arrow, for it _is_ an arrow Loki realises, floats a few inches back so it no longer looks ready to gouge an eye out. Now free of whatever this assault is Peter takes to scanning the area around them.

“Where are you? Come on that’s not funny!”

The stall owner has sat down in a chair, crossed his arms and closed his eyes. Maybe having customers harassed by magical flying arrows is an everyday occurrence for him.

The arrow drifts in his direction, and if it was living creature Loki would describe it as acting almost curious to his presence. It circles him again, and then moves towards his face slowly. Loki frowns, and cocks his head at it, but doesn’t move from the spot. After the initial shock, Peter has calmed and now seems mostly annoyed, treating the arrow as one would a fly. If he is not overly concerned about it, then there is no need for Loki to panic. 

There is a weird sensation filtering from the object, as if it is causing the very air to vibrate. In a way, it is not unlike the universal translators hidden beneath the skin of all those around them. If Loki concentrates hard enough, he can feel all the little shockwaves of magic-like energy emitting from each person.

This object also has a pulse to it; however this is more channelled, controlled. The universal translators are very standard in their emissions, working like an engine or a wheel. It works in one way, and that way only. The arrow, however, is altering, adapting, morphing. The vibrations not only encompass the item, but lag behind like footprints in snow.

Loki doesn’t have much magic at the moment, but he has enough that he can raise his hand and carefully push a little into the vibrations, interrupting the ones there with his own. The connection sings, and the path trailing the arrow slowly becomes more visible to Loki’s eyes. He watches it meander lazily into the crowd. Listening carefully, he can hear a very low-pitched whistle coming from that direction.

“That son of a bitch is here somewhere…” Peter says in the background, sounding frustrated and stroppy.

Moving his hand so it is behind the arrow and in the centre of the connecting trail, Loki calls upon his magic from deep within. It responds, flowing up from his centre and twisting through his veins to reach his hand, collecting beneath his fingertips, flaring, bursting.

The connection severs. 

The arrow bobs for a moment, and then hangs in the air, the new link keeping it stationary.

“Wha’ the _fuck!_ ”

Loki waves his hand, and the arrow obediently follows. In the very edges of his vision, small black spots begin to flutter, and suddenly Loki is very aware of his feet placement on the ground. It takes a large amount of might not to swoon like the girls who used to follow Thor like puppies. Swallowing, Loki drops his hand to balance himself against the table (keeping the arrow in the air), and breathes deeply.

How pathetic.

“Wha’ the _fuck_ does this _shithead_ think he’s doin’ with _my arrow!_ ”

“Yondu! There you are you bastard! Finally stopped playing- Woah, hey!”

Loki has barely blinked at the approaching figure when hands yanks at his collar, thrusting him down onto the stall painfully, weapons scattering under him. Rough hands snap around his neck, squeezing hard enough that Loki gasps and struggles to free himself. The hands hardly budge, but he still tries to pry them free nonetheless.

“The _fuck_ you playin’ at?” A voice, angry and raw, rages inches from his face. “Think you’re the big man, do ya? Think it fun to play wit’ a Ravager Captain’s arrow?”

The man’s breath stinks, but that is the very least of Loki’s concerns right now. Still fighting against the hold, he glances into the face of his captor, ready to spit back venom.

He meets blue skin and red eyes.

Loki freezes, words dying on open lips, tongue becoming as heavy as lead. His breathing stops even though the hands do not tighten their hold.

There’s a deep growl and Loki gets slammed, unnecessarily, into the table once more. Behind him, he hears the owner quietly mutter an annoyed, “Hey…”

“You listenin’ to me?” The blue skinned, red eyed man rants. “You payin’ attention?”

This man, this blue skinned red eyed man; he cannot… Not all the way out here. There is no way…

He isn’t…

He can’t…

No, no actually he really _can’t_ be, now Loki’s brain is catching up with his eyes.

He’s the wrong shade of blue, and he lacks the skin deep runes that are carved into every Jotun’s flesh (the minute after birth, Loki was informed as a child). But he is bald, like Frost Giants, and those eyes are unmistakable. 

He’s blue. His eyes are red. 

He’s blue. His eyes are red. 

_He’s blue. His eyes are red._

“I said,” The man barks again, and the hands tighten just a little. Peter is saying something somewhere. “What do you think you are playing at?” He articulates each word carefully, dropping the peasant accent because of it. Each becomes more threatening than the last. 

It was not snowing at this outpost, but Loki’s skin feels as if it is freezing over like a lake in the depths of winter. He swears he can almost see his breath puffing in front of him, in the tiny space between their faces, and specks of snow before his eyes. Behind them a large palace of ice stands, looming, dominating, commanding. His arm stings but not painfully so. His armour is falling away under a freezing hand, and blue, _dark_ blue, like a deep, storming ocean, is spreading, blooming like bizarre blood. Lady Sif is screaming a battle cry, and Fandral yells as he is pierced through the chest by sharp, dangerous ice.

Something inside his gut cracks and the world blurs into a spinning vortex. Vomit surges from his stomach and his chest heaves, but nothing leaves his mouth as space and colour and stars flash across his pupils. He is moving, spinning, tumbling-

Loki is spat out into the middle of the communal bedchamber.

“Holy _shit!_ Fuck!”

“I am Groot!”

Loki’s legs stagger alarmingly and he tumbles backwards, arms lacking any coordination. His feet are knotted under him, and suddenly Loki is very well acquainted with the metal floor. Something hot dribbles over his upper lip. His whole body is numb, shaking, broken.

“Why the fuck did you do that?” Someone yells, and a furry figure walks into Loki’s hazy and tripping vision. “There’s easier ways to travel, pal!”

Loki’s palms are resting on the floor, at least he thinks, it’s hard to tell at the moment. His stomach is in agony. He is too cold to be able to tell if it is bile rising in his throat or a scream.

“Princess?”

Of course Loki faints in front of Rocket, because how else would be lose any more of his dignity?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fun Fact: The Smurfs began life as a Belgian comic franchise under Pierre Culliford in 1958
> 
> La, la, lalalala!


	16. Chapter 16

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Drax tells a bedtime story

Loki wakes to the sound of people shouting on the floor above.

And then nothing.

Loki wakes to the sound of mechanical humming.

And then nothing.

Loki wakes to the sound of snoring.

And then nothing.

And then nothing.

And then nothing.

And then something.

He is in a bed, he realises with a start, for he can feel the rough material under his fingers. His skin feels unclean, cold but sweaty. His nostrils are oddly sore. His eyes, even though they are closed, feel tired. Beside him, there is the sound of heavy breathing.

Loki wonders if waking in a bed feeling as if he went several rounds with Mjolnir is going to become a habit.

Scrunching his heavy eyelids open, a foggy view of the metal ceiling meets him. The overhead lights are dimmed but still hurt his skull. The curtains are open. 

Space is empty, barren, a void of nothingness ready to consume him, tear away his soul and-

Vomit rushes up his throat and suddenly Loki is struggling to roll over. He hears himself retch, desperately trying not to choke. A hand, rough and large, grabs onto his shoulder and yanks him over to his side, directing his head into a bucket. The sound echoes around his ears. The hand moves to hold his hair.

Loki’s mind feels numb, battered, like an apple bruised beyond shining red. Thoughts whirl in a sickening kaleidoscope, leaving him dizzy, confused, lost within the haze of unpleasant sensations currently assaulting his body.

Eventually the queasiness passes, leaving Loki panting into the bucket, bewildered and dazed. The bucket is carefully lowered away from his face to sit onto the floor, and a glass of water is held up to his lips.

“Rinse and spit.”

Too tired to deduce the ‘whos’ and ‘whys’, he does as instructed.

“Can you sit up?” 

Loki breathes through his mouth, trying to calculate what in Hel is happening to his body. His teeth feel disgusting, and at that moment he longs for a toothbrush. Hesitantly, he nods, bringing his arms beneath him to push himself up, keeping his gaze purposefully away from the window. Once sitting, he finally zones in on the person next to him.

Of all people, Loki did not expect Drax. His expression must have shown as such.

“My Kamaria was sick a number of times in her short life.” Drax informs him, though Loki cannot find the energy to ask who that is. “I have dealt with vomit more than once.”

“Oh.” Is all Loki can bring himself to say. His memories are foggy, one big blurred mess. Loki knows they were going to get him new clothes, and then they went to look at weapons while they waited for them to be made. After that... After that something happened, with someone…

Blue flashes through his mind.

Blue.

He’s blue. His eyes are red.

Loki stares down at his hands. They are stark white.

“What did you do, to infuriate Peter’s father?”

Peter’s _what?_

Before his mind can even process this new information, Loki has his head back in the bucket.

He must pass out some point afterwards, because next time Loki opens his eyes he is resting on his side, facing Drax who is sat in a chair, arms crossed, watching him. Loki blinks.

“You have an amazing ability to vomit, for one who eats so little.”

Almost amusingly the only thought that filers through his mind is, ‘that is fair’. When he fails verbally respond to the man, Drax takes it as his cue to keep talking.

“When I was a child, my father took me into the woods.” Oh, how lovely, Loki was getting a bedtime story. Bring back the sick bucket. “He told me to stay close to him, for there are many monsters in the forests around our home. However, I was so eager to prove my strength to him that I did not listen, and ran too far ahead.”

Thor had been similar in childhood.

“Soon I found myself out of sight of my father, and it was not long until a monster came out of the trees seeking to make a meal out of me. A Junghan, they are called.”

( _“The Frost Giants take the easiest of pray, little ones, the weakest of the group. Very often, that will be you.”_ )

“I was terrified. I forgot all of the training I had been taught, and coward as it loomed over me. If it were not for my father, I would have been slaughtered and eaten on the spot.”

“Lovely.”

Drax leaned forward on the chair, his voice becoming lower.

“I was of course punished for my actions, however for months after I suffered from night terrors. I could not sleep, and soon I could not eat. As soon as it was dark I became convinced that the monster was circling our house, and that it was trying to get in through the windows.”

“Is there a point to this story?”

“Yes. My father soon grew worried for me, and made me go outside into the garden after each terror and punch a tree. He told me to imagine that it was the creature and to use my fear to fuel my strength and overcome it.”

Loki’s mouth is firmly locked. He runs his tongue over his teeth, trying to dislodge the dirty feeling.

“What I am saying to you is that by keeping your emotions within, you are making yourself sick and weak. You are letting the monster hurt you instead of fighting to become stronger.”

Something boils in Loki, hot and fuming at being called weak, and the implication that he is a nothing but a snivelling child hiding beneath the covers from shadows. Something else cowards, for he has been seen.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And they all lived happily ever after!


	17. Chapter 17

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Loki finally eats something

Loki does not allow himself to lie around like some invalid. Once he is able to stand without spots dancing before his eyes, he quietly takes himself to the bathroom and showers. Whether here or on Asgard, the feeling of washing ones hair after a sickness always soothes him, and Loki allows himself to stand under the hot water for far longer than necessary.

As he goes to leave, he finds a set of leather clothing of green and black folded on the floor, accompanied by the blaster he and Peter examined, as well as a set of knives. 

Half of him huffs, because they can simply _hand_ the items to him. The other half, however, is grateful for being left alone.

The clothes fit perfectly. Ghilda, for all her ghastliness, has done a stunning job. The outfit consists of a green long-sleeved undershirt and a leather coat, and a pair of leather trousers and soft socks. Loki had not been expecting a pair of thick boots to accompany the clothes, but he does not complain.

The leather is neither too tight nor too loose, and allows him to freely move in most directions. The green and black create an interestingly intricate pattern down the arms of the coat, seemingly appearing delicate despite the heavy material. The trousers sit well at his hips, and the belt is garnished with a large buckle. 

The blaster is still an unfamiliar weapon to him, and as he clips it onto his belt it feels heavy and dangerous. 

The knives, on the other hand, fit well in his palm. There are three, and he takes the time to slot two into his sleeves, and one between his chest and the tunic.

After placing the old clothing onto Peter’s bed, he heads for the kitchen. The thought of eating still turns his stomach, but Drax had unknowingly made a point when he brought up food. If Loki was going to be controlling illusions for an extended period of time on this quest, he would require his magic back to its full potential. To do that, he needs to add fuel to the fire.

He has grown unsatisfied at his lack of magical ability anyway, time to have it back.

The kitchen is empty, thank the Norns, and so Loki sets about finding something soft enough for his still unsteady stomach, but filling. After a bit of a search he locates several rolls of bread in the cupboard above the stove. Taking one, he places it onto a clean plate and fills himself a glass of water. It is a meagre meal, but should be enough for the moment. 

Loki sits in the chair facing away from the window.

The bread is tasteless, which is probably for the best. Ripping it into small portions, Loki carefully chews each mouthful. It is surprisingly soft; probably something designed to be eaten with soup or broth. Maybe it was meant to be eaten with the soup from a few nights ago.

The food enters is empty stomach, and a queasy rush hits Loki. Pausing, he tries to suck in a few deep breaths, in through the nose, out through the mouth. He ends up like that for several minutes, until he is eventually able to muster the courage to sip his water, cautious to do so slowly as not to trigger any unpleasantness. 

Loki jumps when the door slides open. Gamora and Peter walk in, both stopping in their tracks as their attention focuses in on him, conversation dying.

“You’re up.” Gamora notes, as if it is some great miracle that he has managed to leave his bed.

“Princess!” Peter exclaims, and Loki cannot help wrinkling his nose. The nickname Rocket gave him seems to be spreading. Peter doesn’t notice his distaste. “You gave us a bit of a scare there!”

“I apologise.” He says smoothly, putting both hands onto his lap. “I…Also apologise for the error I caused-”

“Nah, don’t be!” Peter cuts him off, grabbing a chair and sitting himself down. He has a stupid grin on his face. “It was great! I’ve never seen Yondu so flustered!”

“Is that what you call it?” Loki asks dryly before he can stop himself. Gamora, who is over by the sink sorting out a bottle of something, is watching him out of the corner of her eye. Peter laughs.

“Ok, yeah he was pretty pissed at you.” He admits. “Had a good shouting match with me an’ all.”

Loki thinks for a moment. “Was that here?” Peter blinks.

“Yeah, why?”

“I believe I heard you, that is all.”

“Really?” Gamora walks over with three glasses in hand, handing one to Peter and offering one to Loki. He takes it to be polite, but it looks and smells like alcohol. If he can barely handle plain bread, there is no chance he will keep down anything alcoholic. He puts the glass next to his water, and hopes no one pays too much attention.

“Yes?”

“You were pretty out of it.” She tells him, sipping her drink. “It’s been a few days.”

“Yeah,” Peter adds, “What happened?”

They both look at him expectably. Loki slowly traces each of his fingernails, absently tugging at the skin of his knuckles.

“I teleported.”

“We know that,” Gamora huffs at him, “What about after?”

“Well…” Embarrassingly Loki does owe them an explanation. Unlike the nightmare this is not something easily brushed off, a small blip in otherwise normal affairs. He has forced them to care for him, and if he tries to dodge the subject will undoubtedly be brought up later. “My magic is not…Strong, at the moment.”

“Not strong how?”

His nail digs too deep into his finger, and Loki tries to part his hands. They find their way back to one another only a moment later, however.

“I will not explain my circumstances before the hospital, but it has left me weakened.” They know he fell from the Bifrost, but nothing more than that. No need for details. “Magic is like any form of energy; once it’s drained it needs time to be back to full strength.”

“Does teleporting cost a lot of energy?” Peter asks, seeming genuinely curious. 

“It does. It takes most, if not all of ones energy to physically move between locations. I make a point of not doing it often.”

“So…” Gamora fixes him with a stern expression. “You slept badly, didn’t eat, and decided to teleport with an empty engine.”

Loki blinks at the bluntness, before trying to compose his expression to something cool and authoritative. 

“When you put it like that-”

“You’re so stupid.” Gamora interrupts, running a hand over her face. She adds, quieter, “I am so done with macho men.” 

“You should have just told us, dude!” Peter insists. “We need you as much as you need us, we won’t turn on you or kick you out!”

That had not actually been the problem, but saying as such would result in a conversation Loki _would not_ have with these people, so he makes a point of looking apologetic.

“There will not be a repeat performance. You can trust my word on that.”

“Good.” Gamora knocks back the last of her drink, and then eyes Loki’s untouched glass. “You’re not going to have that, are you?”

“I’m afraid it may be unwise.”

In response she grabs it, claiming it as her own. “So,” She starts, “What do you need to do to get to full strength?”

“Eat, firstly.” Loki indicates to the half-eaten bread on his plate. It is strange to have people so interested in his magic, normally only his mother would be willing in such conversations. “And rest.”

“What about meditation?” Peter questions, and Loki and Gamora stare at him in surprise. Peter shrugs. “Yondu worked with some Operi for a while, and they’re magic users. You used to find them in all sorts of odd places meditating.” 

“Yondu worked with Operi? _Yondu?_ ”

Peter snickers at Gamora.

“I didn’t say they got on, they were just both after the same thing. Dunno, I didn’t really pay attention.” His eyes turn distant. Peter adds, somewhat nostalgically, “Kraglin and I used to see who could draw on their faces the longest when they were meditating. Both got our fair share of black eyes because of it, too.”

Meditation is something Loki has done before, but not in terms of restoring his magic (though he has never lost his magic to such an extent as he has now). On Asgard, he had used it when trying to crack a particularly tricky spell. The instance he had done it in the dwarf prison cell came to mind, when he had to unbind the enchanted lock so he and Thor could escape. There is no prize on offer for guessing who put them there in the first place.

“I…Suppose it may help.” He thinks aloud. “It may help channel it more, which would help it grow quicker. Though,” He flashes Peter a strict expression. “If I find my face marked in any way you may get more than a black eye.”

“Awesome!” Peter completely ignores the threat. “We may have some yoga pants somewhere, I’m sure Gamora would appreciate-” The reference is lost on Loki, but Gamora leans over the table and snatches Peter’s ear, making him cut off with a yelp. “Ok! Ok! Sorry!”

“As I have told you before.” Gamora still holds Peter’s ear, but addressed Loki. “I work with literal children. Eat your bread; we need to go over what we learned on Bunla.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> How to give your resident god items, as demonstrated by Peter Quill:
> 
> Step 1: Wait until he is in the bathroom
> 
> Step 2: Put the items outside the door
> 
> Step 3: Run


	18. Chapter 18

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter misses Earth

They are all gathered around the table on the bridge. Multiple blueprints, schedules, and character profiles litter the surface, creating more of a mess than anything else. If this is how they normally plan these things, Loki doubts they have the best success rate.

He decides not to dwell on that thought.

Rocket, who has decided to stand on the table with Groot, hands a piece of paper to Gamora. She reads it, and passes it to Peter. Soon it loops around to Loki, who finds it to be a timetable. 

“That,” Rocket indicates to the paper, not meeting Loki’s eyes, “Is the timetable for the armed guards. They do a round every twenty minutes. The second column on there is for the lone security guards, who loop every thirty minutes. They are armed.”

“This means there is a ten minute gap for Peter, Drax, and I to get into the building and make our way to the safe room.” Gamora continues, spinning around a blueprint on the table so they can all see. Pointing to a small back entrance, she explains, “This is where we are going to get in. We can’t go through a window because we don’t know where the owner is going to be. This is probably for servants, so it’s well tucked away.”

“Is this all servant’s quarters?” Loki asks, pointing out the narrow rooms. Gamora nods.

“Yes, but we’re planning on doing this in the early hours, so this area should be empty.”

“I am Groot?”

“The vault?” Rocket clicks something on his wristpad, and Loki steps back in surprise as an illusion (no, not an illusion, a _hologram_ ) blooms over the table. It shows the mansion and each of the rooms. A small blinking red dot on the screen by the back door must represent the foot party. Rocket touches the air, and the hologram twirls, shedding the upper floors so the dot can be seen as starts moving along the corridors inside.

“To get to the vault we need to navigate a maze of corridors and rooms,” Rocket says, wandering around the edge of the table following the dot. “It’s another security feature, to make the place as confusing as hell to walk around.”

“Well, that must be fun to live in.” Peter drawls.

Drax hums, though it sounds slightly confused, before asking, “How will we get through it?”

“We all have this map downloaded onto our wristpads.” Rocket holds his up for emphasis, “Gamora and Quill will be sticking together, but it’s likely that you’ll get split up from them.”

“No guard will get passed me.”

“That’s the plan.” Gamora does something to the hologram, making it zoom in to an area underground. “Rocket will have hacked their systems, so he will block any cameras and open and electronic doors for us. The vault itself is located beneath the mansion, and by the time we get there the armed guards will be only five minutes away. The door to get below ground is metal, and we have to use explosives to get in. There is no way that they are _not_ going to know we are there.”

“I could always place an illusion over the door.” Loki offers. “So it seems untouched.”

Peter shakes his head. “The noise will still be noticeable. Drax should be able to hold them off while Gamora and I retrieve the crown.”

“As soon as the explosives go off, you’ll start your illusions.” Gamora fixes him with a gaze Loki cannot read. “We cannot stop one group of guards from reaching us, but we can confuse the rest. Make them run around, distract people. Rocket can shut off their comms as well, so they won’t know exactly where we are.”

“Comms?”

Rocket snickers at Loki, and Loki shoots him a murderous expression. Rocket quiets, though if it was not for their deal Loki gets a strong impression that Rocket would have done a whole lot more.

“Communications.” Gamora says, eyes dancing between Loki and Rocket. “They’re small devices that sit in the ear and allow you to speak to people.”

“Like a telephone on Earth.” Peter adds. Loki nods slowly.

“I am somewhat familiar with the telephones used on Midgard.”

Instantly, Peter perks up. He reminds Loki somewhat of a puppy hearing its name called.

“You’ve been to Earth?”

Loki eyes Peter suspiciously. He had simply though Peter was using the simile because Midgard is part of the Nine Realms and there was a chance Loki might know them. Surely that had been on the page regarding Asgard? However the way Peter looks at him eagerly might suggest otherwise. 

With distrust, Loki responds, “Not for centuries, but I have read about them.”

“Is Ass-place close to Earth?” This time it is Rocket who speaks up, though rather than the excited curiosity Peter is expressing he appears more cautious. The sudden interest in Asgard and Midgard sparks a twist of unease in Loki’s stomach. His fingers are faffing with his knuckles.

“Midgard is one of the Nine Realms; it falls under Asgard’s control.”

Peter frowns at this. “Control?”

Loki shrugs in response, hands still messing with one another. 

“It’s a looser term for Midgard in comparison to the other Realms. We ensure it is left to its own devices.”

“And what does Midgard do in return?”

If he had been on Asgard, Loki would have replied that Midgard was simply too primitive to offer anything of value in return for protection. Here, there was a good chance he might receive an unsavoury reaction, possibly a black eye. Loki would need to choose his words wisely.

“Once, I believe the people worshipped us as gods, and treated us as such when we visited. Now…” He swallows, and deliberately offers a small, comforting smile to Peter. “The Allfather protects all those who fall under his domain without the requirement of bargain.”

Loki, of course, was the exception to that. He decides not to voice this, hoping the conversation will turn back to the task at hand.

“That’s your daddy, isn’t it, Princess?”

Oh how he itches to make a fur coat out of that creature. Or maybe a nice purse seeing as he is so small and offers so little materials. 

“He is not my father.”

“Ooh,” Rocket goads, “I sensing some daddy issues-”

“Enough!” Gamora snaps, and at first Loki is surprised that Rocket actually backs down, until he remembers that Gamora had an unhappy relationship with her father as well. Obviously Rocket was beginning to cut too close. Interesting.

“I’m from Earth.” Peter suddenly blurts, as if the tense exchange had never taken place. Loki tries not to tense. Obviously this man has not been to Midgard recently (or longer, depending on how long he was falling), otherwise he would not have gone along with the idea of Loki temporarily joining their little gang. 

“Really?”

“Yeah, Yondu stole me when I was a kid.” 

Yondu, that’s the man Loki met in the market. He’s blue. His eyes are-

“I see.” Is all Loki offers in reply.

“Anything exciting happen while I was gone?” Peter seems hopeful

“What the mortals do to each other is not Asgard’s concern, so I am afraid I do not know.”

Peter’s face drops a bit at that, but Gamora distracts him by explaining the last of their plan. There is not too much too it. Once they have the crown, and Loki and Rocket have caused enough distraction, then they all leave as quickly as possible and meet back at the ship. 

They discuss it as if it will be so simple. Drax is sure that no person will get passed him. Rocket gloats that he’s the best with technology. Peter explains that Yondu used to use him for thieving and he can get in and out of anywhere (which quickly descends the conversation into… _Adult_ territory, to which Gamora scrunches her nose as Drax laughs). There is a general sense of confidence in the room, a silent surety that they will succeed in the mission.

Loki has been here before.

He has scars that suggest otherwise.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sure it'll be fine


	19. Chapter 19

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Loki has a visit by a 'hairdresser'

It is going to take them three weeks to reach the planet the mansion is located on (“Even with jumps.” Gamora tells him, which means nothing to Loki until they violently dart through some form of wormhole). This gives Loki three weeks to regain his strength to top potential. 

Currently, he is sat crossed legged on the bed, the coat folded neatly at his side, his back against the window. For all that Loki hates it; it is nice to have something solid behind him. It stops the falling sensation overpowering him as he quietly channels his energy, eyes closed.

Loki has not done this with the sole purpose of growing his power before. Normally, he is trying to work out the particular trick to a spell, or, in the case of the dwarf prison, he is attempting to crack one. Now he is simply feeling for his magic, playing with it, encouraging it to swell within him. 

“I am Groot?”

Loki does not jump, and instead just opens a single eye at the plant. Groot has climbed onto the bed, and is in the process of clambering onto Loki’s crossed legs. Sighing deeply, Loki closes his eye.

“Hello, Groot.”

“I am Groot.”

“You know I do not understand what you are saying. Gamora explained that with time one starts to get the gist of what it is you want. I, however, am not at that stage yet.”

Groot does not verbally reply, and for a moment Loki wonders if he is going to be left in piece. The feeling of roots tugging at his pockets destroys that idea.

“I have no treats for you. Rocket is the one who carries those around.”

The relationship between Groot and Rocket is an intriguing one, and is something Loki cannot quite pin. Peter had once shown Loki a picture of the five of them, one which showed Groot in an adult body. According to Peter, Groot had once been an older, but had sacrificed himself during battle resulting in his current form.

What kind of name is _Guardians of the Galaxy_ anyway?

“Nor is there anything for you in my coat.”

“ _I am Groot!”_

“I do not need to be able to understand you to know that you just insulted me. If you ever wish to receive titbits from me, I suggest you take it back and apologise."

“I am Groot.”

“You are forgiven.”

Rocket is not Groot’s father, that much is obvious. Even if they are not related by blood, one might expect Rocket to take Groot under his wing, raise Groot as his own (he deliberately avoids how familiar that sounds). But Rocket does not, behaving instead more like a brother all too happy to lead the younger astray (again, Loki does not dwell on anything other than Rocket and Groot here). 

Small fingers play with Loki’s hair. 

“What are you doing?”

“I am Groot.”

Groaning internally, Loki opens a single eye again. Groot has perched on his shoulder, and has taken a small clump of hair. Carefully, he is braiding it into a plait. Loki watches from the corner of his eye for the moment.

“I…Suppose it is harmless enough.”

“I am Groot!”

“Do not get it tangled.”

Groot himself was an interesting character. Very much a child, that was for certain. There were things he could not grasp, no matter how many times Loki saw Rocket or Peter explain it to him; Do not push this button, do not eat bugs, no you cannot go outside (why Groot would want to is lost to Loki. There is nothing out there; it’s just empty, empty, _empty_ -)

The window vibrates with the engines against his back, and Loki breaths and focuses his senses on channelling his magic again.

Other times, Groot acts like a bully. Like when he ‘attacked’ Drax not too long ago. There have been other instances since then, involving others. There was the moment at breakfast a few days previous, where Peter had strangely shaped cereals thrown at his face for most of the meal. Groot had also gone and stood on top of a target while Peter demonstrated how to use a blaster, and then knocked the target over when Peter told him to move so he was not shot. 

And here he is now, plaiting Loki’s hair. 

What an odd little creature.

“”I am Groot!” The plant exclaims excitedly, and Loki feels him jumping around on his shoulder. “I am Groot! I am Groot!”

“Oh, are you done?” Blinking open both eyes now, Loki tentatively reaches up to feel the braid. It is small, just by his ear, and Groot has finished it off with some kind of plant tie. Groot is beaming at him.

“It is very nice.” 

“I am Groot!”

Groot makes to leave his shoulder, and Loki holds out a hand automatically, lowering him down onto the bed. Groot stands at the edge of the mattress.

“Do you need assistance?”

Groot shakes his head, and extends his arms into twisting roots to slowly bring himself down onto the metal floor. Then he goes scampering across the room (which takes him about a minute, seeing as his legs are so small), only pausing in the doorway to offer Loki a wave of goodbye. Loki raises his hand in reply, and Groot leaves.

It is bizarre, Loki thinks, that the Allspeak does not work on Groot. If it did, he might have a better idea of Groot’s character. He could have also used it to lord over the others, which would be highly amusing. Being able to have a full conversation with outsiders not understanding a word you say. Loki could have done with that on Asgard.

Just as Loki is sitting up straight to get back to the matter at hand, the sound of light footsteps catches his attention. Is Groot returning?

Rocket walks in the door and Loki sighs and shuts his eyes, ignoring the animal. Rocket does something to his bed, probably storing parts beneath it with the other piles of junk. Loki hears a huff.

“Nice flower, Princess.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Flower Crowns, copyright of Groot 2018


	20. Chapter 20

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Angst and Thor, need I say more?

The nightmares are stubbornly persistent.

So is Loki.

He has managed to stop screaming his lungs out every time he snaps his eyes open, which is something. But that still leaves him lying alone in the dark, the void of space so close that he can practically _smell_ it, trying desperately to bring his breathing back under his control. 

His magic has grown, allowing Loki the comfort of an illusion cast over his face, banishing the dark circles from prying eyes. He is able to keep it there for most of the day as well, only dropping it in the privacy of the bathroom and when the lights go out at night.

It offers little comfort as Loki trembles under his covers like some wounded mutt, however, hands clinging to the sheets and mind frazzled. Often, Loki finds his thoughts too racing to allow at a second attempt at sleep, too unfocused and too wild. 

It forces him to lie there, neither resting nor comfortable, until he is eventually able to tame the beast and force his eyes shut.

Sometimes, his consciousness wanders, taking him to places and memories Loki had long forgotten.

As a child, he would seek Thor’s chambers if he woke from bad dreams. They did not happen often, only on those rare occasions of true fright, and in truth Loki can only remember three clear instances, though there were undoubtedly more.

The first time he left the safety of his bed in the dark of night, he must have been around five. During the early evening the palace had been besieged by a group of men from Vanaheim, who sought to destroy the peace treaty created by Asgard. Thor and Loki had been banished into their separate bedchambers, armed guards standing around the door on both sides. Loki could remember the shouting that echoed around the palace corridors, and the sounds of weapons clashing. 

The group were eventually detained, and the palace had been left in peace, but Loki had remained shaken. That night, after a series of highly unpleasant nightmares, he slipped out of his bed and scurried across the hall to Thor’s room.

“Thor?”

“Mm…”

“Thor!”

“Hm. What?”

“I can’t sleep.”

“Oh, well I can.”

_“Thor!”_

“Why don’t you go to Mother and Father? Don’t you usually?”

“But, it’s so far away…And it’s _dark._ ”

“Oh, very well-”

“Thank you!”

“If you hog the sheets, I’m kicking you out!”

The second time Loki snuck from his room to Thor’s, it had been their first night with their new nanny. The old one, Hilde, had moved away to the country, having been hired by a family of wealthy nobles looking for someone to tend to their child as they went travelling around the realms. The new one, Loki forgets her name, had been a lot younger than Hilde, with thick black hair instead of grey. She had seemed ok, neither the best but not unfair, but when it came to the bedtime tale before the Princes went to sleep…

She was not there the next day.

The final time Loki can remember crawling into the bed of Thor, they had been in their early teens, and deemed old enough for adventuring. The first adventure of ‘maturing men’ was supposed, by Asgard tradition, to result in the death of some creature to show their readiness for manhood. That part was fine. They had been hunting since they could ride and learning about Asgard’s wildlife before even then. 

The issue that occurred on their very first trip was the fact that they were completely unused to fighting as part of a duo. They had gone for a bilgesnipe (because when you are an inexperienced young man off on your first adventure you naturally go for one of the hardest animals to bring down) and proceeded to constantly find themselves under each other’s feet, in the way of the other’s attacks, and forever bumping into one another. 

Being inside a cave had not helped matters.

Loki, while trying to duck away from Thor’s untrained hammer, had wedged himself into a corner, back to the wall and antlers charging in his direction. Thor, forever proving himself to be the stupid oaf that he is, dove in front, grabbing the antlers before they could reach Loki and yanking them away. One mighty sweep from a paw had seen Thor flung into the cave wall, where he slid down to the ground, unconscious. Blood had pooled.

It had been the first time Loki had teleported while transporting another person, but how they managed to make it all the way back to the palace (by the back entrance, so Asgard could not see their shame), Loki would never know.

That night, when all had been quiet, he had silently slipped into Thor’s room, carefully climbing into the bed next to the older boy, who was propped up on pillows.

“Don’t do that again.” Loki requested in a low voice, fiddling absently with the covers. “Don’t take a hit for me.”

“I cannot promise that, brother. To ask such a thing is unfair.”

“It is _unfair_ to expect you to take a blow for me.”

“Loki…” Thor had reached up, and cupped his neck in a familiar gesture, “You are my brother, there is nothing unfair in that expectation at all. I will promise to try not to get knocked out again, and leave you on your own.”

Loki had smiled softly, and leaned into the touch.

“I suppose I should take what I get.” He had said, spending the rest of the night in Thor’s room.

Loki hated where his mind took him, in those long night-time hours as they drifted through space.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Would a nightlight help?


	21. Chapter 21

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Loki is having a blast. Drax is a dad.

In an effort to rid himself of the dreams that plague him more persistently than salmon swimming upriver, Loki trains.

The loading bay is used as a supply room when the ship is not docked, and during the day the boxes are pushed to one side to create a small but useful space. Quickly Loki learns that each team member makes use of the area at different times, each in their own unique way.

Early in the morning is Drax’s self-allotted slot, where he makes use of a punching bag, fighting bare knuckled with the well-worn equipment.

Gamora and Peter spar in the period after breakfast. The two are similar in height but not muscle mass, though that does not seem to slow them. The first time Loki watches them, he is mildly surprised that they do not walk around the ship battered and bruised. Maybe they are not using as much force as it seems. 

Rocket is not much of a fighter, he is simply too small to be. Instead he trains with his weapons, aiming at moving targets. He has a pretty accurate aim, though Loki does not need to see that to know. Rocket is very boastful, and spends five minutes explaining the time he achieved some great feet while partially blinded. Loki nods and hums in the correct moments and focuses on the ant crawling around on top one of the boxes. Rocket notices, and blasts the poor creature to smithereens, making Loki startle.

“Yeah, that’s what I thought.” Rocket mutters.

He also trains using some kind of computer program which requires a device over the eyes and special sticks in both hands. He twists about, shooting non-existent targets. It is highly amusing, but Loki does not allow his lips to smirk. Rocket would unlikely appreciate the thought that he was being laughed at.

Groot just does his own thing, be that flinging small objects at targets, or using vines to trip Drax.

In all, it is very different from training on Asgard. There, sparring and sparring alone is the norm. Weapons practice is limited to the lessons of children; those early years of wooden swords and careful instruction. Once old enough, you are expected to move into the larger classes, where you pit yourself against opponent time after time to hone your technique and learn through mistake.

Contrary to popular belief, Loki could hold his own in those sessions. It was true that he greatly preferred their scholarly lectures over their physical, but that did not mean he was unskilled at hand-to-hand combat. Loki had always been particularly fond of his daggers.

The room is empty in the time between lunch and dinner, so Loki quietly claims it as his own, aiming to exhaust his body in an effort for dreamless sleep.

The targets intended for blasters are just as useful for throwing knives. There is a system where they can pop up around the room in random spots (Loki decides not to question how they do that, it is not a discussion he can be bothered to sit through), and after warming up he falls into a rhythm of throwing, retrieving, moving and throwing again. 

His magic is much stronger, now he had replenished his lost energy, allowing Loki to incorporate illusions and spells into the mix. Instead of throwing a blade, he tosses fire. Instead of running for a target himself, he sends an illusion, using what would be a distraction to get himself behind the ‘person’ and attack from the new angle. 

Loki always leaves these sessions panting, ready to shower and ease the ache of his muscles. 

It does nothing to ease his current sleeping pattern. 

On one particularly bad night, he wakes facing directly at the window, and it is only by some miracle that he catches the rising scream in his throat. Gulping air, Loki rolls over and is on his feet before he can even register what his body is doing, marching across the room and out the door. He ends up in the training room, the dagger he keeps under his sleeve in hand, and proceeds to tare a target apart. 

Drax is the one who finds him, collapsed on his knees an hour later, panting heavily. His hair is a mess and falls about his face, sticking to his skin. Sweat is running down his forehead. His hands are shaking.

Loki must truly be a pitiful sight. 

He does not know what he is to expect from Drax. Maybe he will get another delightful story about the man’s childhood, or some too-insightful advice on what Loki should be doing with his life. Maybe he is here to growl at Loki, frustrated at being disturbed from slumber. 

Drax does not say anything, and simply stands in the doorway with his arms crossed, watching Loki.

“Come to mock?” Loki’s voice is sinister, low, raw, the lack of sleep and the despair of his dreams chasing away any care he had on keeping civil with these people. “To watch the little Prince suffer like some terrible monster in too small a cage?” He laughs without humour. “There’s more than one monster on this ship.”

Loki cannot keep eye contact, eventually snapping his gaze to the shredded target. His dagger lies uselessly several feet away, as if silently asking Loki if it was worth it. He fears he may have blunted the blade.

When Drax moves, Loki tenses. But Drax either does not notice or does not care, for he walks across the loading bay and grabs his punching bag, hooking it to the ceiling. It sways gently.

“Here.” Drax points to a spot on the bag. “For your height, this is where the head will most commonly be on your enemies, and on the security on our mission. Aim here.”

Loki remains on the floor. They stare at one another for a moment.

“Like this.” Drax falls into a fighting stance, and aims one solid punch into the bag. It swings away under the force. “Keep your thumb outside your knuckles, not inside. It is better to break a few fingers, than your fingers _and_ thumb in one punch."

Loki does not rise. He watches the bag move back and forth from the movement of the ship. 

After ten minutes of silence, Drax leaves, but does not take the bag down.

Loki goes and showers for the day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Anyone up for feels? Too bad, that's what you're getting


	22. Chapter 22

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which we get a brief cameo from someone on Earth...Kinda

“We’re here.”

With two words the atmosphere of the ship changes. Peter’s incessant music which he insists on playing is turned to a quieter volume, becoming low white noise. Training becomes more specific, more targeted towards the weaponry and people they will be encountering. Rocket spends more time faffing with technology and gadgets. They go over the plan twice more, fine-tuning their routes and methods. Loki has a number of illusions set aside for the mission. 

As of four nights before they are set to go, he has one each of Gamora, Drax, and Peter, three security guards, one bilgesnipe and one horse just for the sheer confusion of it. He cannot focus on them all at once, as some require speaking roles as well as physical, but whatever happens they will be doing their job.

They dock in a nearby town under the guise of restocking supplies (which is actually a truth). It is not as busy as the previous outpost, but the streets are still filled with places to drink and eat. The ground is covered with strange grey gravel, and as they wander around the stalls of the all-day market Loki cannot help but grimace at the uneven surface. It is the kind of gravel which runs deep, making steps sink in and everyone walk around with a slight wobble. It is uncomfortable and unnecessary, to say the least.

When evening banishes the blue from the sky the six of them split. Gamora, Rocket, Groot and Loki meander for a bit, taking in each establishment with their blinking neon signs, before finally settling into a crowded bar on a corner, claiming a small table as their own. Dax and Peter head elsewhere, apparently ending up in some betting house according to the message that pops up on Gamora’s wristpad. 

After looking over a drinks menu, Gamora orders a strange blue cocktail with a slice of purple something sat on the rim. Rocket has a red bottle of strong smelling alcohol. Loki nurses this planets equivalent of cider, served in an overly elaborate tankard. Groot munches on the complementary snacks.

Gamora and Loki discuss everything they need to buy while they are here. Rocket and Groot flick food at them, and then play some kind of game with the cap from Rocket’s bottle, scoring ‘goals’ while Rocket gives ridiculous commentary. Everything about them screams normal. They are just here to stop over for a few days. They are mundane and not worth noticing.

In truth, Gamora is listening to the bartender, who is describing how he used to work in a mansion with a, “Prissy as fuck owner.” Rocket’s wristpad is currently hacking into all the town security feeds and systems, so they can hide their escape. Loki is watching a group of men as they boast to metal, yellow-painted women about all the gear they have to wear for work. Groot is just being Groot. 

The room is filled with a large number of people. By the bar a men are discussing something, crowding around a datapad. They keep gesturing to each other. The other side of the room, several beings green skin chat over drinks. Some young women have taken up the main space of the room, yelling along to music and dancing together. Several people come and go quickly, barely finishing their drinks before darting out the doors. All in all, it is chaos. Just what they wanted.

“Do not look now,” Loki calmly begins, casually lifting his drink to his lips, “But you have a friend.”

“We will need more yaro root as well.” Gamora replies, briefly meeting his eyes before glancing around the room in a bored manner. 

“Yes, I suppose we will.”

“He shoots!” The bottle cap goes sliding around their table, scraping annoyingly against the plastic surface. Groot kicks it hard. “He scores!” Rocket cheers, though it is not loud enough to be attention seeking. “Dude, we should get you signed up somewhere!”

“I _am_ Groot!”

“How are we for other supplies?” Loki notes that Gamora’s friend has relocated over to far end of the bar. “Cleaning, bathroom, that sort of thing?”

“Behind me or to the side?”

He is lucky to have originated from an elite family associated with negotiation and strategy, Loki thinks to himself, otherwise he would not be able to understand this tactic. He had used it once before on a diplomatic excursion with Odin to Niflheim, when they wished to discuss matters but were unable to find a private place to do so. 

The theory was that if you split the conversation up into small pieces, you could exchange information with less of a risk of being heard by others. If you were heard, all an outsider would get was snippets of two entirely separate conversations. Loki and Odin had used it to try and work out if they believed the new trade deal to be fair, while also discussing the unique cooking techniques of the Realm.

Odin had patted him on the shoulder when they returned, and told Frigga that Loki had, “Served me well.”

Loki suddenly has to shake his thoughts. No, he had not originated from such things, had he?

( _“I will have destroyed that race of monsters-”_ )

“I am afraid I am unfamiliar with those items, you will have to show me.”

“I am Groot?”

“Hm?”

Loki blinks down at Groot, who is watching Loki expectably. Gamora huffs, reaching forward to retrieve the bottle cap, which had slid under Loki’s elbow. Groot takes it, and the game beside them resumes.

“Are you any good at calculating food supplies?”

“At the bar, far end. Wearing…” Loki’s voice drifts off. The person has begun approaching, carefully moving around the crowd of people chatting and drinking loudly. Gamora’s eyes narrow at him for a second and he can see that she has tensed up. “I have had some experience, yes.”

“Undercover police.” Rocket mutters, flicking the cap to Groot. “He had a word with the barman when he walked in.”

“Would you be able to draw up a chart for us? Work out all the supplies we will need?”

The person is most definitely within hearing range now. They are inching closer, obviously under the impression they have not been spotted among the vast number of people. They hold an undrunk mug of something in one hand, and have a strange poncho over their head. 

“Of course, when we get back we can go over how many meals we need, and I will go from there.”

“Thanks.” Gamora smiles at him, grateful and sincere. Loki returns it. Gamora turns to Groot. “How’s the game going?”

“I am Groot!”

“I’m telling you, he’s gonna be big someday.” Rocket chuckles. Groot holds the cap up to him. “Again? Fine, but I’m not betting this time, don’t want to lose any _more_ money.”

“Excuse me?”

The four of them simultaneously face the person, now stood at the end of the table. Rocket adds a, “Huh?” sound of confusion to add to the effect.

“Hi,” Gamora’s face is friendly, inviting, “Can we help you?”

“Just wondering, do you want any…” The man, for Loki can now see that it is a man under the hood, lifts his poncho to reveal a belt full of pills, powder, and oddly coloured liquid. The man smirks. “I can offer a discount for the pretty lady.”

Gamora laughs, amused. 

Loki hears Rocket snort and attempt to cover it up by clearing his throat. The man is oblivious. 

“I’m afraid we will not be needing any more of your…” Gamora thinks for a moment, making a show of tilting her head sweetly, “Wears.”

An uncomfortable, shivering sensation drifts up Loki’s spine, and he bites down the urge to shudder, instead focusing on the bemused expression he has plastered on his face. Resting his chin on his hand, he watches the table behind himself and Rocket from the corner of his eye. There is a lone person hunched over a tankard of something.

“You sure?” The man urges, placing his mug on the table and pointing to a particular powder, “This one is brand new on the market, guaranteed to take you places beyond your wildest imaginations.”

“Oh? What does it do?” Gamora asks innocently. 

The man beams.

“It’s like drifting through space…” He begins, and Loki’s expression only just stays put. “Like seeing the cosmos flying before your eyes. One of my customers said it is like being a comet, silently flying along. They haven’t had the need for anything else since.” He holds out the small bag of powder over the table as if it holds all the truths of the universe. His voice is that of wonder. Loki takes a large swig of his drink. “Imagine what it must be like, falling as an asteroid, getting to see every galaxy.”

“I am Groot!” Groot suddenly exclaims, holding out his hands to the man excitedly as he hops up and down. The man blinks, and then starts to hand the bag to the plant. 

Loki darts his hand out in front of Groot, gently but firmly pushing him backwards and closer to Rocket.

“No, I think not.”

The table behind them is now empty.

“Sorry,” Gamora cuts in as the man turns to glare at Loki. “Groot is only a child, it wouldn’t be right.”

“Oh, I apologise!” The glare slips into mock shock. “I thought him only a smaller species.”

Gamora chuckles and glances fondly at Groot.

“No not small, simply young.”

“Ah to be that again, eh?” The man says to Loki, and Loki cannot help the eyebrow which shoots up. The man clears his throat. “Are you sure you don’t want any? Like I said I can offer a dis-”

“Oh my gosh, hi!” A very high pitched voice pipes up, making the man jump. A woman with pale skin, overly long blond hair and rather messy clothes jumps onto the man’s arm, latching on tightly. “Oh wow, I haven’t seen you in _forever!_ Not since our training!”

“I…Think you have the wrong person-”

“Nonsense, it’s me! Don’t you remember?” She pouts, jutting out her bottom lip, “We were on the same course! I was there when we got to try out our uniforms for the first time!”

“O-Oh!”

“Duh!” She giggles, and yanks his arm, dragging him away from the table. “C’mon, you can buy me a drink to make up forgetting me!”

“B-But…” The man is pulled away into the crowd. 

“Let’s go.” Gamora gulps the last of her drink in one and stands, and they hurriedly leave the bar.

“Man…” Rocket sighs once they are outside, “That was-” Rocket breaks off with a half growl, half yelp as he is suddenly yanked off the ground by the scruff of his neck. 

“Loki?”

“What the _fuck_ , Princess?”

“I am Groot! I am Groot!”

Loki marches them into a side alley, and then starts rooting through the animal’s back pockets. Honestly it would be a lot easier if Rocket did not insist on squirming.

“I knew you would turn on us, you fucking-”

“Here.” Loki pulls out the small vial of pills. He tosses it to Gamora. “The man on the table behind us was undercover as well.”

“Huh.” Gamora turns it over in her hand. “I thought the aim was to get us to buy something, and then arrest us.”

Rocket wriggles out of Loki’s grip and scampers to the ground, where he stands and bares his teeth like a rabid creature. Loki does not give him the satisfaction of looking, and merely crosses his arms.

“That was one aim. I highly suspect that once we reach the dock, we will be searched to make sure we are not smuggling anything off planet.”

Realisation dawns on Gamora.

“I see. They must have seen us leaving earlier.” She frowns. “Why though, to bump up their success rates?”

“Did you not see the group in the far corner?”

“No?”

“They were dealing something.” Loki shrugs. “In all likelihood a gang has been using the bar as their selling station recently. Either they are a strong group or they are somehow related to the law enforcement here, so instead of dealing with them directly-”

“They would make a point with someone else.” Rocket interrupts. He is facing away from Loki now, with his tail swinging around his legs. Groot is on his shoulder, munching a treat he has retrieved from Rocket’s pocket. “We would have arrested us at the door. Scare the others off without interacting with them. And if we slip passed them, they can still catch us later at the ship” 

Loki nods. “Exactly.”

Gamora tosses the drugs into the air and catches them. Turning her gaze upwards, she spots a low, flat rooftop. With one clean toss the pills land with a clink onto the area above them.

“They won’t find them up there for a while.” Gamora sighs, putting her fingers to her forehead. “Well at least that was semi-successful. And that girl got the man away from us so they shouldn’t have seen us leaving.

“Oh?” Loki says innocently. “You mean…” An image of the blond woman materialises beside him, staring blankly out in front of her like a lifeless doll and making Rocket dart back a few paces. Gamora gapes at him.

“That was _you?_ ”

Loki laughs, and the illusion vanishes again. Rocket huffs, muttering something under his breath before marching out the alley. Gamora and Loki follow.

He decides not to tell them that the illusion was Loki’s imagined appearance of Jane.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Jane, I’m so sorry. 
> 
> Also why does Loki always attract the drug dealers? Is it the emo haircut?


	23. Chapter 23

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Time for some breaking and entering

It is the night of the mission. 

A strange calm has fallen over the vessel, everyone silently getting ready, readying weapons and appropriate clothing. The foot party have dawned dark garments to blend into the dark corridors, and Peter and Gamora both have a bag strapped to their back filled with required equipment. They all have blasters hanging from their belts, plus a long dagger for Drax.

As he walks onto the bridge, Loki notices that instead of being able to see through the large window in front of the driving seats, it has been replaced with something black that glows in a similar fashion to an illusion. Upon briefly asking, Rocket delves into a full length discussion, mentioning pixels and colour pigments, and clearly taking much glee in the fact that Loki cannot follow what he is saying. Loki nods at the appropriate times, casts Rocket a pleasant smile, and then retreats to the other side of the room where he fiddles with his new wristpad.

Gamora had spotted it on the way back to the ship after the bar incident and had insisted on purchasing it, stating that he would not be able to access his online bank account without it once they have parted ways. His nails catch at the strange design, but he is slowly getting the hang of using the device. It is not unsimilar to using a datapad.

As he waits for the foot party to finish preparations and join then, Loki cannot help but cast an eye over the blackened window. Somewhere, a part of him _longs_ for the covering to be a permanent feature, or at least something that could be stuck onto every other pointless window on this ship. But would likely be an unpractical arrangement. 

Loki can dream, though.

“Everyone ready?” Peter asks as he, Gamora and Drax enter the bridge. Groot is perched on Gamora’s shoulder, but climbed down onto the table as soon as he is near enough. They have to maneuver around the large chunks of technology Rocket has insisted he has on hand for the mission. Frankly, the room is a mess. 

“Loki, don’t forget your comm.” Gamora reminds, pointing towards the device sat on the table. Loki grabs it, slotting it over his ear.

Rocket taps a few buttons. “Everyone online?”

Going by the strange but soft noise of static, Loki presumes so. 

“Rocket, Loki, keep in contact with us.” Gamora is double checking her bag, rooting through and running her eye over everything, obviously going over a mental checklist. Peter is glancing at his blaster charge. “Try not to send any illusions at us, and let us know if any guards get through.”

“Don’t worry about it.” Rocket says in confidence. “We’ve been planning this for ages, we got this.”

Peter frowns at Drax. “Dude, where’s your bag?”

“I will not need one.” Drax replies, crossing his arms. “No guard will get passed me.”

“Yeah, they better not.”

“Boys, we gotta go.” Gamora says before an argument can break out, noticing the time from the clock on the wall. It has gone twelve, time to start. She nods at Rocket and Loki. “See you later.”

“I am Groot!”

“Good luck.” Loki offers them, and they leave the room. A moment later the sound of the loading bay opening and closing can be heard. Oddly, without the normal noise of the engines running or the constant chatter, the vessel starts to feel strangely empty.

“Alright, Princess.” Rocket sighs, stretching his arms and cracking his neck, “Let’s get set up.”

They are not planning on hacking the mansion systems until the foot party is in position, which they won’t be for another half an hour. It’s a short cross country jog between the town and the mansion, one Peter had been moaning about over the last few days. Still, to cover their tracks Rocket is running a pre-recorded video over the security cameras of the town, so they should in theory go unseen.

What the cameras are intended to be recording is instead being redirected to a screen on one side of the room. As Rocket slides into a chair and Loki onto the bench against the wall, he spots three figures go running along the road and into an alley. 

Rocket is tinkering with something, running small hands over a keyboard and faffing with three brightly coloured wires. Very lightly, he has begun to hum one of the songs Peter is forever playing.

“I’m high mm-mm, mm-mm, that you’re mm, mm, mm-mm…”

Loki breaths in through his nose, and out through his mouth, letting his eyes slip shut. His illusions are not required for a while, so he might as well make use of the calm to focus his energies into his magic. Slowly drawing his legs so that they are crossed, he turns his thoughts inwards, reaching gently for his magic and encouraging it into his centre. Loki pictures it moving with his breathing, inflating and deflating, working with his body and mind.

He hears Groot go running across the room, small feet tapping against the metal floor. 

“Lips as sweet mm, mm-mm…da da da de da dum…”

Loki is going to need a lot of strength tonight. He has needed great strength before, in battle or combat. However, that was usually done within a short range, casting illusions on the other side of a river or training ground. Now, he is going to have to stretch it across a mile, maybe a little more. Loki can do this; he knew that for certain, it will just require energy and a lot of mental power. 

“Don’t go to sleep, Princess.”

In through the nose and out through the mouth.

“I will not.”

His magic is reacting well, flittering below the skin comfortably, responsive. Somewhere to the right he can hear the sound of Groot munching. He has probably retrieved a treat from Rocket’s pocket. 

“Hey, is that where you are going to sit?”

Breathe in, breath out.

“I shall sit wherever you need me.”

“I’ve gotta set up your screens, they’ll show you all the camera footage so you can do all your illusions and shit.” A pause. “You _sure_ you’re not asleep?”

Sighing, Loki opens his eyes and regards Rocket.

“I do not mind where you put them. If I am convenient here, then place them here.”

“You coulda just said yes.”

Three large screens are dragged over to him, Rocket locking the wheels so they don’t go rolling on the slight uphill of the floor. They are offline at the moment, and the dark shiny material reflects Loki’s image back to him.

“When you need them, just press the button and-”

“Rocket?” Gamora’s voice, filled with static and interference, cuts in. Both of them jump, and then (to Loki’s amusement) try to cover it.

Rocket hops into his chair. “You guys there already?”

“Nearly, but there’s a lot of air activity.” She sounds hurried, uncomfortable. “They’re leisure vessels, so they can’t be looking for us. Any idea-”

“Already looking into it.” Rocket’s hands are flying over the keyboard, the screen changing from one website to another before Loki can even register the change. Groot has materialised on the armrest of the chair, crumbs around his mouth. 

“Could it be a traffic route?” Loki suggests. Rocket shakes his head.

“Nah, not going so close to a rich person’s place. They bribe councils to divert it elsewhere.”

“Which would suggest that they are going to said place intentionally.”

“Yeah.” Rocket’s voice has a slight growl to it. “It would.”

“Guys?” Gamora pipes up again, and Loki can hear Peter say something. “We just arrived. We’re- Oh you have got to be kidding me!”

Rocket had started pulling up the equipment he will use for hacking the system, but pauses at her exclamation. “What?”

“There’s a party, a full on party.”

“There’s spotlights on the sky,” Peter adds, “And people in animal masks, it’s the full works!”

“What should we do?” Loki uncrosses his legs and stands, running his nails over his wristpad and frowning. “Can we rearrange for another night?”

“If we do, when?” Peter counters. “We’re under the guise of restocking supplies, and we’ve already stayed far too long for simply that.”

“The party could make a good distraction.” Rocket suggests, standing in his chair.

“Could also mean the security schedules are completely different.” Drax argues, “We might have even less time to reach the vault.”

“What about the man who gave you the information?” Loki’s fingers have strayed from the wristpad to his hand, running over his knuckles. “Did he not say anything about this?”

“We never gave him a date.” Gamora’s voice is strained. “And this might have been a last minute thing.”

Silence falls between them, and Loki has no doubt that everyone (maybe with the exception of Groot) is running over the positives and negatives of the situation. 

Realistically, they should reschedule and try again. They have not been spotted yet, so no one would know that they were here. But Peter believes they are already pushing their luck, and that staying longer would expose them. 

“We have already hacked into the security footage of the town.” Loki thinks aloud, turning to focus on Rocket. “How long before someone notices that?”

Rocket pulls a face.

“I’m good, but we can’t hide this forever.”

“Rocket, how long?” Gamora pushes.

It is almost delightful to see Rocket squirm. Groot climbs onto his shoulder.

“A few days, maybe less?”

There is a collective groan from the other end and some words too quiet for Loki to hear. Peter then exhales heavily.

“Guys, we gotta go for it.” He sounds hesitant, uncertain. “If anyone here gets wind of what we’re doing, then there’s no way we’ll get in.” 

“I have not prepared any illusions for entertaining party guests, but I can try if needs must.”

“Only use it as a last resort.” Gamora instructs, and there is a rustling noise. “Everyone, we stick to the original plan as closely as we can. Rocket, start hacking the cameras, we’re heading around the back.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Mission Impossible plays in the background*


	24. Chapter 24

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A reference to Norse Mythology is made, and probably not in a way you are expecting
> 
> Featuring: The best Author's Note I will ever write

The bridge is alive with devices. They all gently whir and beep and crackle as Rocket switches from one to the other, redirecting security footage, sabotaging networks and corrupting programs. Groot is sat on his shoulder, watching with keen interest as they move from one thing to another. 

Loki has returned to his previous position on the bench, legs crossed and hands on his knees. His back is straight against the wall. Although he cannot feel the familiar vibrations of the engines, the solid support is still welcoming as he readies himself for the task at hand. It will not be long now until his talents are required.

The monitors around him bloom into life, and suddenly Loki is surrounded by a multitude of camera feeds. 

“Everything up?” Rocket asks over his shoulder.

“Yes, it seems so.”

Rocket grunts in response, concentration already elsewhere. 

There is a group of guards talking outside a room with metal doors, which have been elegantly decorated with a pulsing gold light. One pushes the shoulder of another in a friendly gesture, and they fall into a relaxed wrestling match. By a table of food, a woman can be seen laughing with a friend, who has linked their arms. In the main room of the party, people are eating and drinking merrily, some taking up dancing in the centre of the room. 

“I’m in.” Rocket informs the foot party, sharp eyes taking in all the information being directed to the ship.

“So are we.” Peter replies, voice low. “Making our way to the vault now.”

“It looks like they are switching between main and dessert foods.” Loki watches the men and women unload trays and stack up the used plates. “Be careful you do not run into staff returning.”

“Got it.”

Rocket’s tail is shifting from side to side. “Take the next left.”

From where he is sat, Loki can see the three carefully moving from one corridor to another, watching their backs as well as their fronts. They are being cautious, but Loki cannot help but find them vulnerable. 

Both he and Thor attended many parties of lords and nobles on private estates, especially in their youth when Odin wished for them to make contacts and alliances in preparation for their later duties. On the rare occasions that the Allfather and Queen would join, they were more often than not sent to interact with the teenage offspring of the host and exchange pleasantries. 

For those parties that lasted through the night, Loki had on more than one occasion bumped into an overly drunk and overly eager couple running off to find a private spot to… _test out the bedding_ , so to speak. The clock on the wall informed him that it was nearing one in the morning.

“Be careful.” Loki found himself saying, watching the feeds closely, “People may be moving in and out the rooms.” He spots Gamora glance to a camera, and then back down a hallway.

“How are the corridors looking?” 

“You are ok at the moment, but there are armed guards not too far away.”

“Which direction are they moving?”

“They are not. I believe they are helping themselves to the alcohol.” 

“Good for them.” Rocket mutters, and then, louder, “You’re nearly there. Another right turn and then a left.”

The three follow the commands, arriving outside a room with thick metal doors and a large red light glaring angrily into the otherwise dim corridor. Rocket leans forward, hand flying over a keyboard.

“We have guard approaching from the west.” Loki watches the men casually wander, weapons pointing down. 

Something by Rocket beeps s and the doors slide open, letting Gamora, Peter and Drax dart inside before they close again.

“This is where you split.” Rocket notifies, “Gamora, Quill, get working with those explosives.”

“Loki, inform me when the guards arrive.” Drax stands facing the door, knife in hand. “I shall jump them.”

“You have time to set up the explosives, but not much more than that.”

“Great.” Peter drawls. “Working on it now.”

There are unfortunately no cameras to allow Loki a view, but when Drax startles and a faint whooshing sound crackles in his earpiece, he assumes they have been successful.

“Drax those guards heard the noise, running in your direction.”

“Loki.” Gamora’s voice has more interference than before, suggesting she is now below the ground. “As soon as they see Drax, start your distractions.”

“With pleasure.”

Something giddy, playful, _eager_ ignites in Loki’s chest. In response his magic sings, tickling below the skin as he readies himself for something he has not done in far too long. It is as if his whole body is made of electrifying static, just waiting to burst into the world, ready to zap at any moment.

Mischief is a delicious thing.

“Drax be ready in three…Two…One!”

The doors slide open and Drax charges face first into the unsuspecting guards, dagger plunging down.

A horse wanders into the main part room, completely content, as if it has every right to be there.

Loki has to bite his tongue to keep down the cackle.

Party guests are glancing around in confusion, unable to tell if this beast is supposed to be there and this is an elaborate evening entertainment, or if it is wild and on the loose. A man wearing a bird mask approaches, and the horse tosses it head away, mane flying brilliantly.

“A group of guards heading their way.” Rocket pipes up, and Loki quickly draws his attention elsewhere, letting the horse remain where it is. 

Juggling two illusions at once is always slightly disorientating, but he can handle it.

For those illusions which require speaking roles over just physical, it is best to place one’s mind within the shadow. This is not required all the time, as Loki demonstrated in the bar and his rather unflattering version of Jane. He has had years of practice after all, and when in such a shallow range where you can see your own illusions, it is easy enough to manipulate. Loki had done it with Thor, once, sending a dark haired maiden his way after Thor had drank far too much to be healthy. It took the oaf a full hour to realise that his beautiful admirer was not as she seemed.

However, over as large a distance as they are now, Loki cannot simply base his tricks on the camera footage alone. In order to speak to these fools and distract them fully, he will need to be able to hear them and respond. 

A tugging sensation pulls at his core, and Loki slips his eyes closed, cupping his at his magic to draw it to full strength. Then, almost violently, he yanks it away, flinging it across the far expanse between the ship and the mansion, allowing his consciousness to follow. It is an unbalancing sensation, and Loki feels his stomach churn, but as he successfully lands within a silent hallway he casts the feeling to one side. He has a job to do.

The form he has chosen is that of a guard, with unnoticeable features and a uniform to exactly match that of the real guardsmen.

“Go straight.” Rocket instructs. It is strange to hear both the noise of the brig and mansion at once. Loki can pick out both the sounds of Groot pottering about and the faint noise of the party. “You’ll meet them.”

Loki does not reply and instead takes off running, barely glancing at the fancy paintings and expensive objects lining the walls. He ends up colliding rather ungracefully with the man leading the group. With no effort the illusion takes on a panicked expression, the chest panting though Loki feels no exhaustion.

“Watch where you’re going!” The man snaps. “We need to-”

“The intruder has gone to the back!” Loki interrupts, his voice not his own, “There are men pinned!”

“Right, everyone fall in and follow me.”

How _pathetically_ easy. 

Loki allows the group to run passed under the guise of waiting to follow at the back, only to turn and go the opposite way, intending to see how Drax is coping with the men attacking him.

A shiver darts up Loki’s spine, and he startles, physically feeling the wall of the ship behind him though the illusion is in the middle of the corridor.

“Your pet has an admirer.” Rocket says helpfully.

Ah. 

Loki’s vision swirls as his consciousness is transferred over, and suddenly he is in a room crowded with people. Loud music and voices fill sensitive ears, making them lay back against his head. The room is far too bright for his eyes, filled with way too many sparkles of jewels and dresses and masks and bubbling alcohol. Faces surround him, watching him, looking at his body. Curiosity, disgust, amusement, all this and so much more are being glanced his way. Some sneer. Some chuckle.

Hands are reaching out, aiming to grab his mane, to touch his back, to attempt to _mount him-_

(You’re useless, weak, a _monster_.)

Back legs buck, sending a person flying. Someone screams.

Loki reminds himself to focus on his breathing, forcing his body back on the ship to suck through the nose and out through the mouth. He has a job to do; it is no use becoming distracted.

Kicking someone was not the mischief he had intended but still, never say Loki does not make the most out of a situation.

With a deranged whinny, Loki surges the horse forward into the crowd, sending people scattering like marbles. He bashes into a table of food, spraying expensive bakery and pricey tableware across the room. A set of very elegant vases go tumbling to the floor as he speeds by. Impressive pyramids of drinking glasses shatter as he rears.

“Gamora and I have the crown, we need a route out.”

“Head straight down the corridor in front of you.” Rocket replies. “Drax, you need the next right. Loki, any chance of a distraction here?”

Breathe in, breathe out. 

Loki allows his consciousness to lift away, watching in amusement as the stallion goes at full speed into a room where people have taken cover. The shrieks make his lips twitch in amusement.

Pulling his mind back into his physical body, Loki snaps open his eyes and glances over the cameras. Three guards are patrolling the corridors, blasters ready to fire. Gamora and Peter are hidden behind a corner, but the men are getting uncomfortably close. Reaching inwards, Loki transports his mind back to the mansion, materialising behind Gamora. 

Gently, he places a wispy hand on her shoulder, while saying into the earpiece, “Do not panic, it is me.”

She runs an eye over her double critically, but nods. 

“Loki, take them down the hall directly in front of you.” Rocket speaks up. “Gamora and Quill go down the corridor they were in.”

Loki wills the illusion forward, holding a blaster and walking as if trying not to make a noise. He crosses the t-section of the hallways. 

“Hey!”

“Stop!”

“Damnit, why can’t we get through to anyone?”

The illusion startles, and Loki allows it to spin and gasp with wide eyes, feet skidding into a sprint to bait the men away from the foot party. They shout at him (her?), and the sound of a blaster echoes down the corridor.

“The hell?”

“Loki!” Dras practically shouts through the comm, and Loki feels his body jump on the bench. “I require assistance!”

Controlling a horse, Gamora and another will drain Loki’s magic far too quickly. He will have to drop one. Keeping the guards occupied must take priority over Loki’s fun.

He hopes the terrorised party guests are grateful.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Are your parties dull and uninteresting? Do they lack the pzazz you desperately crave? Try the all-new, all-occasion Live Horse! Perfect for birthday celebrations, moving parties, and engagement celebrations!
> 
> Just died? Want a wake that will shake some life into your family and friends? Don't worry, Live Horse works perfectly for all funeral occasions too! Using Live Horse technology, we will have your mourners happy and talking in no time!
> 
> (Batteries not included.)


	25. Chapter 25

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sadly, there is no horse.

As Loki’s mind returns to his body once more, Rocket shouts, “Drax you asshole, why have to led the guards there?”

Breathing heavily and absently rubbing at the squeezing pain spreading over his chest, Loki turns his attention to the cameras. His magic flutters, unsettled, like a panicked butterfly encased within a glass jar.

Drax is in the servant’s quarters, eight guardsmen surrounding him, weapons drawn. He is in a narrow room, most likely some form of storage area, dagger drawn and dripping with blood. In fact, his whole body is covered in gore. Behind the guards, a large crowd of servants have gathered, watching with wide but curious eyes. Some are craning to get a better look.

Obviously, everyone is under the impression that Drax has been cornered.

Sucking in a deep breath, Loki casts himself back to the mansion. His chest tightens, and his throat catches, but Loki pushes through it, landing in an empty room. 

Breathe in, breathe out.

The illusion forms, growing large and muscular. Scales tinted with blood gleam in the light, and jagged, broken antlers spurt from the forehead. Drool slips from between dangerous teeth.

“I am Groot!”

“No you don’t!”

“I _am_ Groot!”

“You look nothing like a bilgesnipe!”

Breathe in, breathe out.

Loki makes the beast roar, thunderous and angry, and the pleasant sound of screaming reaches his ears. Crashing through the doors, brick and metal are flung in every direction. The guards spin on their heels, weapons locking onto him as their mouths gape in surprise and horror. Servants trip and tumble as they climb over one another in a bid to get away.

“Shoot to kill!” 

“Bullets ain’t doing anything!”

Loki blasts forward, heavy legs threatening to squish anyone who stands in his way. Guardsmen roll to the side, and servants scramble. He bellows once more.

Drax yells back and lunges at him.

“Drax! You _fucking idiot_ that’s Loki! Get out of there!” 

Loki allows Drax to phase straight through him, paying him no heed in favour of terrorising the guards. 

“Loki, whatever you are doing keep doing it!” Peter shouts in his ear. “All the goons outside are running in. Rocket, can you get this window?”

“On it.”

Bullets blast from behind, and Loki heavily swings around.

Breathe in, breathe out.

Manipulating his magic around the body of the beast, the front paw becomes solid, living. With a lunge, Loki swipes at the men, smacking them across the room. His tail clashes into the walls, spurting rubble and debris in every direction.

Breathe in, breathe out. The squeezing sensation tightens in his chest.

“Gamora and I are out! Drax?”

“Hang o-” Something cracks, and a scream pitches loudly in the earpiece. “I see you!”

“Everybody move out!” Rocket yells, “Loki, we have some rouge guards on their tail. I need you to-”

“How far from my current position?”

“The wall you broke? Charge that way.”

Loki does, forcing as much magic as he can into the shoulders of the bilgesnipe. The walls shatter like glass, groaning as what little remains struggle under the weight of the upper floors.

Bursting through the final wall, Loki rears over the last few guards trying to follow the foot party, bringing his body down onto them as heavily as possible. 

“Loki!” Gamora sounded breathless, obviously running. “We’re nearly away, just a little longer!”

Space craft are zooming overhead, terrified party guests rapidly leaving the shattering mansion. One ship lingers, and Loki zones in on it. Springing, he grabs the ship in his mouth, sending magical energy into the teeth of the monster. The piolet screams as Loki swings the vessel violently.

“Nice stress relief there, Princess?”

Like a kingfisher stunning a fish, Loki whacks the ship into the ground. Metal breaks away, and those inside desperately rush from the vessel and behind the circle of guardsmen who have surrounded him.

“Reaching the town.” Peter pants, “You can drop it the distractions now. Rocket, clear the bridge and get ready to leave.”

“Already doing so.”

Breathe in, breathe out.

The illusion fizzles away (Loki taking a moment to enjoy the bewildered expressions), and gradually he calls his mind back to his body. It is slower than before, like an aching body trying to walk after battle. Soreness bashes the inside of his skull, and Loki can feel his brows knitting together as he concentrates on bringing himself back. Magic flits behind, struggling to push forward.

This has potential to be bad.

Breathe in, breathe out. 

His chest spasms as his lungs inflate. He feels a pained noise scrape the back of his throat.

“I am Groot?”

“Huh? What?”

Things are beginning to stutter, as he heard Peter’s music do a few days ago. A horrid tingle of entrapment filters around Loki’s brain, and he knows it is unfounded, nonsense created by his worried thoughts, but he cannot help but allow a small twinge of panic to bloom over him.

Breathe in, breathe out.

“Princess?”

Loki’s mind is somewhere over the town. It’s dizzying, hearing the sounds of drunken idiots, thumping music, and overeager chatter. Somehow, it is very similar to being high.

“Oi, Princess.”

“I am Groot?”

His chest is constricting, tightening, strangling. His breaths are becoming shallower, harsher, more desperate. He needs to stay calm, he _needs_ to. Loki must concentrate on his consciousness, to bring it back to his own body, to call it to him, to pull it.

In the name of the Norns he is never doing this again. 

His magic…Loki had sworn it was at full potential. He had felt it, had felt it respond well to his call, react accordingly. Had the fall really battered him so much, that after three weeks intensively trying to regain energy he was still reduced to this? Loki needs to get his mind back soon; otherwise he is not entirely sure that he will.

“Rocket! Is everything ready?”

“Mostly, I haven’t-”

“Mostly? We don’t need _mostly_ we need _ready!_ ”

“Princess ain’t back.” 

Loki is running dry, grasping at fumes. Noise is beginning to slur together, as his vision is gaining dark spots. He has never fainted while mind and body have been separated, so what will happen he does not know. The ability to control his physical body is slipping as well. His mouth feels clamped shut, as if someone had sewn his teeth together and locked the jaw. The familiar feeling of the ship wall against his back has vanished.

Loki is floating in mid-air. 

He is floating-

He is _falling._

“Loki? Hey, come on man wake up!”

“Let’s get airborne, then we can deal with him.”

He is falling but he is not but he is. Colours are whizzing by, stars and galaxies and neon signs and whores and the cosmos-

People are laughing. People are laughing right by his ear. Where is he? Has he fallen to the ground? Where is the ship? Where is his body?

“Engines firing up, let’s go.”

Roaring. A beast is- No, not a beast. Mechanical, functional, technical. Not a beast. Not a monster. Man-made. The ship?

“Gamora, catch him! He’s falling off the-”

“The pay is amazing.” The voice is gruff, unrecognisable. “They only require that you appear like their kind.”

“Kinda racist, innit?”

“With pay this good, you complaining?” Laughter. His mind and body are being torn apart and these people are laughing. “You coming?”

“After you.”

And suddenly there is _magic._

It is strange and dark and very much not his own, but Loki snatches it with eager hands, grabbing it, cupping it, moulding it. It morphs under his touch, resisting and struggling like a captured creature, but it is enough, _it is enough_ to finally catapult him after his body, pushing him up and through the atmosphere and straight into the heart of the ship.

Loki’s eyes snap open and he heaves. Hands are on him, sitting him up from where he’s apparently been lying on the floor. Material is being held to his nose, which only now does he realise is throbbing with pain with each erratic heartbeat. His brain aches, feeling too heavy for his skull, and Loki’s hands quiver violently.

“Loki? Loki what happened?” 

Gamora is in his face, running concerned eyes all over him. She is clutching his shoulders tightly, and Loki wonders if he will be able to sit upright if she lets go.

“I…” He gulps, swallowing away the roughness of his throat. “I got stuck.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> See? I said the mission would go fine, and it did. I should have made a bet on it, I would have earned tons!
> 
> Loki, on the other hand, well...¯\\_(ツ)_/¯


	26. Chapter 26

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And relax

Loki is slumped in a chair, head buried within his arms on the table.

It had taken five minutes for the nosebleed to stop, and a full ten for him to properly regain his bearings. Peter and Gamora had been badgering him with questions, asking if he was injured or going to vomit. Somehow he had managed to mumble out that he required food, and that he had no energy or magic, naively thinking they might plop him back onto the bench to allow him to rest. 

Instead, he was scooped rather ungracefully into Drax’s arms (he would feverishly deny his yelp later). Loki had tried struggling, his arms weak and head spinning, but Drax had simply held him tighter.

“You require food, let us feed you.”

Loki was unceremoniously dumped in one of the hard plastic chairs, where he swiftly proceeded to thump his head onto the kitchen table and attempt to hide his reddening face.

“I know I call you Princess ‘n all, but maybe the whole damsel in distress is a bit much?”

The others had followed them.

Loki groans into his arms, lacking the willpower to drag himself into speaking like a normal person. No, that was lost with his last shred of dignity, blown away by Drax and his too-powerful arms. He hopes the man did not spread blood all over his garments.

Rocket laughs. 

Something heavy is placed in front of him. Loki peeks out of his arms, finding a large glass filled with a pink substance.

“What is this?”

“A smoothie, dude.” Peter chimes, settling himself into a chair next to Loki. “You need food, right? That should do for now until the guys are done cooking.”

Pushing himself upright (and swallowing away the dizziness that washes over him), Loki carefully drags the glass towards him. It does not smell unpleasant. An odd tube is sticking out of the drink, and for a moment Loki puzzles over it. 

“It’s a straw.” Peter supplies. “You drink from it.”

“I see…”

“Care to tell us what happened?” Gamora asks from the stove. Drax is cutting up some form of vegetable.

Loki takes a small, careful sip of the drink. It is thick, oddly creamy, and far too sweet, more of a dessert than anything else, and probably not intended before eating a meal. Still, Loki savours the flavour on his tongue. 

“Well, Princess?” Rocket prompts, helping Groot climb from his shoulder to the table. Loki sighs, exhausted.

“I got stuck.” An odd sense of déjà vu washes over him.

“You said that before.” Peter frowns. “What does it mean?”

“What I said, very literally.” He grimaces, and takes another sip. “Some illusions require me to be more present than others, mainly those who need to speak.”

“You seemed fine in the bar the other night.” Gamora throws over her shoulder.

“Because I was in the same room. If you were to watch, after we left the illusion would have vanished into thin air.”

“I am Groot?”

“Yeah, that still doesn’t tell us anything.” Rocket huffs. Loki holds his glass in both hands, wanting nothing more than to crawl into bed and sleep for a year.

“To control the illusions in the mansion,” He starts slowly, as if talking to a child, “My mind has to be present. I have to split my physical form and consciousness. Yes?” Peter and Rocket nod. “That takes a lot of magical energy. After the last illusion, I had no magic to bring my mind back. It was…Disorientating.”

“That’s freaky…” Peter stares at him, expression a mixture of uncomfortable and unease. “How _did_ you get back?”

“I…Am unsure…” Loki drinks again, frowning in thought. “I felt some other magic, and borrowed enough to return my consciousness to my body.”

“Well, whatever it was, we are very glad you found it.” Gamora sets a plate of food in front of him, and another in front of Peter. “Eat up then go to bed. We are far enough away that if anyone comes after us, we’ll know.” Drax hands Rocket a plate, and then sits with his own. Gamora settles into a chair the other side of the table, lifting a fork. “Tomorrow, we shall go over our next move.”

The meal is a quiet affair, for which Loki is thankful. The food itself is far too greasy for his tastes, but beggars cannot be choosers, and he eats with gusto. His body feels hollow, empty, and every time he tries to call forward his spells nothing but thin air greets him. 

With luck, it should replenish itself with food and a night rest. 

Still, he cannot help but casts his thought to the other magic. Loki has yet to meet another magic user during his time here, and that includes the delightful Yondu. That had not been true magic, rather manipulating energy. He highly doubts the man can do anything outside of whistling an arrow around. 

Loki offers to help clear the table, but is quickly banished to his bed (much to his quiet relief). Pulling off his outer layer of clothes is slow and awkward, and by the time he is able to slink under the bedsheets his mind is quickly becoming a thick fog.

As lights go out and everyone settles Loki cannot help but wonder…

That magic had felt oddly familiar somehow.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Arc 1 = Done!


	27. Chapter 27

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which the author decides to leave Loki alone for a little while...In favour for someone else

“Peter? Are you ok in there?”

Loki jerks awake by the sound of persistent knocking. With an exhausted groan, he rolls over onto his back, flinging a lazy arm over his eyes. 

“Peter?”

Sighing deeply, Loki peeks over his elbow. The bedchamber is empty, and looks like it has been for a while. The beds range between carefully made and a complete warzone. Someone, Gamora, Loki now realises, knocks once more. 

Loki grunts in mild annoyance and pulls himself up into a sitting position, running a tired hand over his face and hair. He must have fallen asleep only minutes after lights out, for he cannot remember anything afterwards. In fact, he has no memories of his dreams either, only deep, comfortable sleep.

There is a first for everything. 

He stretches, feeling the bones of his back click, before gently calling for his magic. In sings in response, quiet but very much there, and Loki cannot help the small smile that tugs at his lips. Give it a day, maybe two, and it should be fully replenished. 

“Peter, if you don’t answer I’ll get Rocket to hack the lock!”

Smile slipping, Loki swings his legs over the side of the bed, collecting the shoes from wherever he had dumped them in his hazy lack of care. He forgoes his coat in favour of just the simple tunic and trousers; he has earned a lazy day, after all. 

Leaving the room, he finds Gamora stood outside the bathroom, her expression concerned. 

“Is all well?”

“Peter’s locked himself in there.” She replies, hand on the door as she leans in to listen.

“As one normally does?”

“For nearly an hour, unresponsive?”

“Ah, I see.”

Loki approaches, also listening through the door. It is quiet inside, not even the sounds of movement.

“Do you think he has passed out?”

“I don’t know.” Gamora confesses, her fingers tracing a line carved into the doors surface in a decorative pattern. “I’m gonna go get Rocket, be right back.”

As she leaves, Loki mirrors her stance, gently knocking his knuckles on the metal.

“Peter? She is gone if it is something unsuitable for her eyes.”

Nothing. Well this is strange. Casting his mind back, Loki did not notice Peter sporting any injuries from the mission. Then again, Loki had been dead on his feet, only just lasting the meal. _Thor_ could have been beside him injured and Loki would have been none the wiser, which speaks volumes because when Thor is injured you very much _know._

Maybe an illness? Peter had seemed perky enough over the last week, moaning about the journey to and from the mansion, training normally with Gamora. Could it be something he was hiding, or something that did not raise its head until some point in the night?

The door slips open from beneath his hands and Loki ungracefully falls into the room. As he regains his balance, the sound of Rocket laughing at the end of the corridor reaches his ears. 

Loki will make him pay for that.

Gamora is approaching, her heavy boots thumping against the floor, but when Loki’s eyes lock onto Peter, he quickly backpedals to the doorway.

“Gamora, stop.” He said firmly, making her pause. “I shall need to cover him.”

“There should be a towel on the rack.”

Nodding, Loki quickly grabs it, unravelling the material from the fold. 

Peter is sprawled across the narrow space of the bathroom floor, completely naked and dripping wet. His hair is soaked too, suggesting that Peter had just left the shower. 

Having hung the towel over Peter’s hips to protect his modesty, Loki carefully feels around the man’s head. 

“Loki?”

“He is covered, you can come in.”

Loki does not look at her as she and Rocket enter, instead frowning at the lack of bump under the golden locks. There is no blood anywhere as far as Loki can see, so maybe he had not slipped as Loki initially thought. His hands move from Peter’s hair to his forehead, feeling for fever. However it is not burning heat that greets him, but freezing cold. In fact, Peter shivers under his hand. 

There is not enough space for Gamora to squat next to Peter as Loki is doing, but Rocket manages to squeeze around them and reach Peter’s wrist, feeling for the pulse.

“Not great, but not terrible either.”

“He was fine last night.” Gamora puzzles, “Ate fine, and we all had the same thing.”

“Food poisoning does not tend to render one unconscious.” Loki adds, “Did anyone hear him get up in the night?”

Rocket shrugs. “Nope.”

“No, nothing.” 

How very bizarre. Granted Loki’s memories of the previous night where foggy, but he cannot recall anything out of the ordinary. 

“Did he go anywhere between dinner and going to bed? Anywhere by himself?”

“The bathroom.” Gamora thinks aloud, eyes darting from Loki to Peter and back again, “And then we put the crown into the safe.”

“Could he have taken anything?”

“We ain’t all addicts.” Rocket mutters, but he leans forward and peels back Peter’s eyelids. He sighs. “Everything’s fine.”

Loki places a hand on Peter’s shoulder, willing away the weird prickle the coolness creates against his palm. Hopefully Peter is not cold enough to spark any unwanted changes to his own body.

“His breathing is a little fast,” He reports, “But that might be because he is cold.”

“His lips are turning blue…” Gamora adds, something strange to her voice. If Loki was not concentrating on trying to solve this mystery condition, and was a little less tired, he might have found that intriguing. For now, however, he lets it go.

Rocket crosses his arms. “He needs warming up. Let’s dry him off and get him to bed. We’ll go from there.”

“I agree.” Loki nods, “Gamora?”

“Leaving, leaving.” She exits the room, calling over her shoulder. “I’ll send Drax.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Poor Loki!" The people cry. "Leave Loki alone!" They demand.
> 
> "Ok." Says the author, switching to a completely innocent character who has done nothing wrong. "I can do that."


	28. Chapter 28

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Everyone forgets about Peter, poor sod.

“How do you wanna do this, Princess?”

Peter’s limbs are curled into themselves, shaking as the man shivers with cold. Now he listens, Loki can hear the little strained pants as Peter struggles. His teeth are chattering as well. 

“Pass me that other towel.” Loki points to the rack. “I shall start on his hair. Can you do his arms and legs?”

Rocket wrinkles his nose at him, clearly unimpressed. “Yeah, give me the awkward job.”

“You have known him longer than I have.” Loki fixes him with a disinterested stare, holding his hand out impatiently. 

“Would still be easier for me to do the hair.” 

Loki resists rolling his eyes. Honestly, for all the big words Rocket likes to throw around he is so petty at times, like a stroppy child.

“No.” He struggles to keep his tone of voice level, “It really would not. If you actually look, you will see there is not enough room for me to dry his body.”

Rocket blinks at him with narrowed eyes, and glances around to hopefully see that Loki is correct. The bathroom is narrow and long rather than wide, and there is only a small space between Peter’s stomach and arms and the sink and wall. The only other place Loki could possibly stand would be within the shower, but then he would only be able to reach Peter’s legs.

Finally Rocket hands over the towel.

“Thank you.”

For a few moments, Loki thinks Rocket will let this go and allow him to towel at Peter’s hair in silence. He runs the material over the locks slowly and gently, trying to soak up as much moisture as he can.

When Rocket decides to open his mouth again, weariness runs through Loki’s chest like a scampering and terrified mouse. 

“So, caring for the sickly; wouldn’t have pinned you doing that.”

( _“Thor, come on. Asgard is only another day away, once we’re there you can- Thor?”_ ) 

“Oh.” Is all Loki offers, not daring say more and threaten his tongue weaving words he will later regret. To loose favour with these people now would only hinder his share of the profits, Loki is sure. 

“Don’t royalty get people to do this stuff for them?”

( _“You’re father is very busy, Loki, but I swear he shall visit you soon.”_ )

“What do you do with all that money on Ass-gard anyway? Commission plays? Sit around drinking wine and discussing theatre?”

Is this animal _trying_ to get a raise out of him? Surely after all this time Rocket has not decided to go back on their little deal _now_ of all moments.

“Hello? You still with me, Princess?”

“I am merely focussing on the task at hand.” Indeed, he has managed to get most of the water from Peter’s hair, but it is still damp. He switches to the dry end of the towel and starts again. 

“So,” Loki bites his tongue hard as Rocket speaks once more. “Where did you learn to care for sick people?”

Why won’t Rocket let this go? And this can hardly be called ‘caring for sick people’. Checking a head for bruising, irregular breathing, and then drying hair would hardly qualify Loki as any kind of healer. If anything, this is just common sense. Gamora probably knows more than he does.

( _“Mother, can I help?”_

_“Would you like to help me cool him down?”_

_Loki nods shyly._

_“Come here, little one. Can you hold this cloth to his forehead for me? That would be a great help.”_ )

“Was it when Daddy was ignoring you?”

Loki is on his feet and moving faster than he can blink. His hand lashes out and yanks Rocket off the floor as if a heron spearing fish, slamming him into the mirror over the sink. Rocket snarls and struggles in response, only making Loki tighten his hand.

“Listen to me, _rodent_ , and listen well.” Loki’s voice has dropped to something low and dark, and he does not need to glance into the cracked mirror to see that his gaze is hard and dangerous. “You know _nothing_ of me or my life. You are an _animal_ , a _raccoon_ if I remember the Midgardian literature correctly.”

“Don’t call me a racoon!” Rocket barks, animalistic and feral and proving Loki’s point nicely. He chuckles deeply, enjoying this new and exposed nerve. His hand tightens against Rocket’s throat.

“Oh dear, now that is a problem. What else shall I refer to you as, apart from your own kind?” Loki lets his head slide to one side a little, as if in thought. “Though, does your kind not normally reside in a cage?”

“Why you-“ Rocket scratches at his hand, glaring daggers. “You’re one to talk, _frost giant!_ ”

Magic flares, hammering into Rocket and making the creature yelp like a wounded dog.

“Enough!” Strong arms pull Loki away, and Rocket slides down onto the sink. Drax has firm hands on Loki’s arms, but is looking at Rocket.

“What is this petty squabbling?”

“He started it!” Rocket gestures vaguely in his direction. If Loki had heckles, they would be raised.

“I think you shall find that I was trying to help Peter.” He points to the man still lying cold, shivering, and completely naked on the floor. “It was you, _raccoon_ , who seemed so interested in _petty squabbling._ ”

“Say that one more time-”

“Enough!” Drax shouts again, clearly frustrated. “This fighting is idiotic when Peter is in clear need of our help.”

Neither says anything to that, simply glowering at one another, breathing hard. Drax sighs like a tired parent.

“Rocket, go see Gamora. She wants a monitor up so we can look at Peter’s vitals.”

Rocket does not move.

“Rocket.” Drax says again, stressing the name pointedly.

“Fine.” Rocket spits, tail bristled. “Fine.” Loki is pulled back by Drax to let Rocket leave, and only now does he realise he is in the small space between Peter’s midriff and the sink. “Knew there was fucking room.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don’t worry everyone; I’m sure Peter’s perfectly happy lying butt-naked on the floor while you have your little drama, no worries


	29. Chapter 29

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter goes another chapter with saying a word

Drax and Loki work silently to get Peter dried and dressed. It is awkward, trying to manipulate Peter’s seemingly boneless arms and legs into the pyjamas, but they managed without any accidents. Though, when he wakes, Loki has no doubt that Peter will be mortified.

Once presentable, Drax easily scoops Peter up into his arms and carries him out of the bathroom and to his bed. Peter’s head lolls against the larger man’s shoulder, pale and lifeless, and Loki quietly hopes he did not look so pathetic the night before.

Gamora is waiting for them, with Groot perched on her shoulder. Rocket is nowhere to be seen.

“Can’t you do some magic?” Draxs asks as he pulls the covers over Peter. “Would that tell you what’s wrong?”

“I am Groot!” Groot exclaims. What he is trying to add to the conversation is lost on Loki, so he ignores it. 

“I am not adept in healing magic.” Loki explains, running his nails over the skin of his knuckles. 

The entire confrontation with Rocket has left him with an uncomfortable uneasiness in his stomach. There is the possibility that he has compromised his place within this group, and he has yet to be paid for his part on the mission. If they decide that they want recompense for this (and the mirror), Loki could find himself receiving a lot less than his fair share. 

He shrugs. “At best I would be able to say whether this is an ailment linked to sorcery.”

“Is your magic regenerated enough for you to try?” Drax crosses his arms, and Loki nods.

Gamora’s eyes keep darting back to Peter. “Then it may be worth a shot. Do what you need.”

Perching on the edge of the bed, Loki places a hand onto Peter’s arm. The man is still shivering, however it has lessened now that he is dry and off the cold bathroom floor. Gently, Loki pushes a little of his magic against Peter’s form, closing his eyes and waiting for a response. Nothing answers.

“No, I cannot feel anything, though…”

“Though?” Gamora prompts, uncertain.

“It’s nothing bad, just…Are you sure Peter is Midgardian?”

“What do you-”

“Here’s the stuff.” Rocket interrupts, strolling into the room and voice completely casual. Loki stands stiffly as Rocket hops onto the bed, moving the bedsheets to attach a series of small circular disks onto Peter’s chest. He hands a datapad to Gamora, not once looking in Loki’s direction.

“That should be reading heartbeat, core temperature-”

“Yes, it is all here.”

Drax has shifted so he is between Loki and Rocket. “Anything unusual?” Gamora shakes her head.

“Not that I can see.”

“Maybe he had a dizzy spell?” Loki thinks aloud, but as he speaks he realises it is unlikely. 

Gamora does not look up from the pad. “But he should have woken up by now, if that was the case.”

An odd silence falls over all of them, everyone unsure what to say next. Loki lets his eyes fall back upon Peter, who is huddled under the blanket. His lips are no longer tinged with blue, which is a good sign, and the shivering has noticeably settled. Whatever this ailment is, it is not causing him to become completely freezing. 

“Maybe it’s a Terran thing?” Drax speaks up, talking to no one in particular, “They are a fragile species, after all.”

“Read anything about it in your books, _Princess?”_

Loki should be sneering at that; the condescending tone, the ridiculous pet name, Rocket smug expression. Loki should be burning to destroy this creature with his magic, to twist a knife deeply into Rocket’s gut. 

Actually, there is no ‘should’ about it. He _is_ enraged. But…

He is being baited, very deliberately in fact, now he notices it. Loki is no stranger to arguments, the line between mischief and bullying is a fine and as a child it took experience to learn where it was drawn. If Loki was going to continue creating pranks and little games, he had to hone his skill, become clever and devious, but never harmful, not really.

Loki could recall as clear as day the time he first _properly_ overstepped the mark, when he and Thor had been around eight. He had, not long before, worked out how to transform himself into other creatures, a feat which took an excessive amount of magical energy and control. It had been that very day Loki had discovered he could carry items on his person while changed, and had concealed a small blade.

Thor spent an hour in the infirmary, getting his shoulder patched.

Loki had hovered outside, worrying over his brot-

The point is Loki knows arguments. He understands how they play out. And trying to bait someone not even twenty minutes after a confrontation? This is not normal.

If Rocket is not going to behave normally, then Loki will not react normally. 

Loki relaxes his body, and allows the anger to drain in favour of curiosity, a far calmer and altogether more pleasant emotion. There is a puzzle here, and he shall crack it.

“No, I’m afraid not.” Rocket, still not looking his way, frowns at the lightness of his tone. “Last time I visited Midgard, they were still dying of common fevers.”

Last time he personally visited, anyway.

“We should let Peter rest.” Gamora sighs, fiddling with the datapad. “It could be something that just runs its course. I’ll keep this with me to keep an eye on him, but let’s just give him a chance to sleep.”

“I agree.” Drax says as Loki and Rocket nod, and quietly they leave the bedchamber, the door shutting behind them. 

Loki starts to head towards the bridge, however as he spots Rocket nimbly climb the ladder his footsteps stutter and redirect towards the kitchen. 

“Loki?” Drax calls after him, causing Loki to pause in the doorway. Loki offers him a polite expression, eyebrows raised in question.

“Yes?” 

“Would you wish to spar?”

“Spar?” He echoes, eyeing Drax wearily. Loki has fought large, muscular types before and often not voluntary. Unfortunately it is something that comes with training on Asgard, especially when you move into the older groups. Loki is sure that if he looks, he will still find the bruises.

“Ah, maybe not?” Drax chuckles, and thumps him on the back in a friendly manner. 

( _“Brother! You did well!”_

__

__

_“Oof, Thor, ow!”_ )

“Make it target practice…” Loki begins slowly, swallowing away the memory. “And I am in.” 

“Target practice! Yes!” Drax gives him an eager look, and Loki wonders if this was a mistake. “You are terrible with your blaster!”

Oh yes, a mistake.

“Only if you try throwing knives, then we shall see who is terrible.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just don't aim at Rocket, Lokes...


	30. Chapter 30

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We're straight back to the Loki angst

Loki is still embarrassingly bad at aiming his blaster, however wiping the glee from Drax’s face when he obliterates him with knives more than makes up for it.

“Where is the crown being kept?” Loki asks as they clear the loading area, making sure to collect all three of his knives and hide them away on his person. Drax pauses in hefting the targets away.

“In the safe upstairs, I believe. Actually…” Drax puts down the target. “I don’t know if Peter contacted the buyer yet. It would be unwise to keep them waiting.”

“Was there a deadline?”

“Not that I was aware, I shall go message them.” With that Drax turns and leaves, the target remaining in the middle of the floor. 

“I guess I shall have to clear that, then.”

After training, Loki finds himself with very little to do. Before the mission, he focused all him time and energy in mentally and magically preparing himself for the task ahead (though even then he had still struggled). Now, for the period between the mission and selling the crown, Loki has an abundance of spare time. 

At first he wanders towards the bedchamber, but then thought better of it. As of yet they do not know what was causing Peter to become unwell, and if there was a chance of it spreading then Loki wanted nothing more than to be as far away as possible. 

Drax is in the kitchen with Groot. A screen has been set up on the table in front of them, a video of a person displayed largely. This person, Loki notes from the shadows of the doorway, has bright orange skin.

“You got it! How lovely!” This person, obviously the client, exclaims, clapping their hands together. 

“I am Groot!”

“I know sweetie, you told me.”

“We are currently enroute to Knowhere.” Drax explains, and holds up a bag, “We shall deliver this-”

“Oh, let me see it! I want to see it!”

“I _am_ Groot!”

Loki slinks away, leaving them to it.

There are mechanical sounds coming from the engine room, the twisting of gadgets and cranking of bolts. Loki does not need to be a genius to realise that the source of the noise is Rocket, who is probably causing a mess. Loki steers clear and heads to the bridge.

“Gamora?”

She is sat on one of the chairs by the steering equipment (Loki does not have any better words for it, on Asgard they would be reigns), arms crossed and head drooped. As Loki cautiously approaches he realises she is asleep.

Well then, so much for a chance at conversation.

What else is there to do on this damn ship?

Rather horribly, the thought ‘look out the window’ enters Loki’s mind, causing a shiver to spark down his spine. For the past few days the ‘window situation’ has not been as terrible as the first week he spent on board the vessel, but that is more likely due to the recent distractions. Supposedly, the same applies to his sleep patterns. With no doubt he suspects that the usual, spaced-filled dread shall return tonight and leave him pale and dark eyed in the morning.

It is, in a way, one of the most infuriating things about living here.

Loki is surrounded by space. It is, literally, everywhere. He cannot move without facing stars and galaxies. At this point, he has probably seen more of the universe than Heimdall. He has certainly smelt more of it, anyway, and had the stench leach into his hair like the odorous dyes textile weavers used to stain their fabrics.

Heimdall…

“I wonder if he can see me.” Loki whispers to himself, crossing his arms to stop his hands picking at one another. 

Really, that is a habit he must break, for the sake of preserving the skin of his knuckles if nothing else. Instead he allows curious fingers to run over the seams of his clothing on each arm, fiddling with the material over his elbows. 

Heimdall, the Gatekeeper, the Watcher of Worlds and the Protector. Could he see Loki now? Was he watching as Loki continued criminal deeds even so far across the cosmos? And if he was able to see, was he reporting to Odin? Were they keeping tally of every action, so that if Loki ever returned, he could be displayed blood eagled for his crimes? 

_If_ Loki ever went back, not when, because there was no way he ever could. Even if he gained all the units in the universe, even if he owned the finest ship and the best crew, even if he had maps and charts to lead him straight to the Bifrost, he could never, not ever…

Mother…

Maybe it was not a matter of could. Maybe he would arrive, and be turned away at the sight. 

( _“You’re one to talk, frost giant!”_

 _Magic flares, hammering into Rocket and making the creature yelp like a wounded dog._ )

Loki is a monster. An atrocity allowed into Asgard’s gleaming halls. Frost Giants are cruel beasts, mindless barbarians with eyes only for ice and snow and blood. Loki knows this. Even without the fairy tales before sleep Loki would still know this. 

The library, his refuge for his young years, was filled to the brim with ancient books and scrolls dating to the wars between the Nine Realms. He could still remember when he found them, displayed proudly on a shelf, and the awe that filled him when he found pages marred with antique blood. Small hands had traced the hurried scrawling from mid-battle, the brief but specific descriptions of those eye witnesses. There had been no censorship for his young mind before they spewed the ghastly acts of their enemies. Yes, Loki very much knows what disturbing things Frost Giants do with delight.

And now, he is one of them.

Even if Loki ever manages to get to Asgard, be it on stunning ship or dragging himself on hands and knees, he may not be welcome.

If he was to be turned away, then nothing would stop Loki flinging himself over the edge of the Bifrost once more, because surely the gut-wrenching pain of the fall was better than that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> How about a compromise and I hurt Peter AND Loki at the same time. Yes? Good. No? Tough.
> 
>  
> 
> NO INFINITY WAR SPOILERS IN THE COMMENTS. While I have seen Infinity War, I will not allow others to spoil it. Any comments giving Infinity War spoilers will be deleted without comment. As a rule, I won't be posting any spoilers in this fic or my author's notes, so if you haven't seen the film this will be a safe fic to read.


	31. Chapter 31

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Another one bites the dust!

Loki has to physically pull himself out of his mind, snapping his eyes from of their fixed stare out the window. Blinking rapidly to relieve the dry and sore feeling tugging at his eyelids, he gasps for air in a suddenly too tight throat.

Breathe in through the nose, out through the mouth.

He is not in Asgard; he is here, on a ship. They are flying through space on their way to a place called ‘Knowhere’ where they will sell the crown and receive an award. With his share, Loki would survive. He _would_ survive. 

He had no other choice. 

Loki glances to Gamora, whose head has dipped further. Her hair has fallen over her shoulders, hiding her face away from his sight. It can hardly be a comfortable sleeping position, and in all likelihood she had not intended to fall asleep in the first place. She had said she was going to watch Peter’s vitals, after all, and she can hardly to do that while like this. The datapad is sat on the arm of the chair, numbers and graphs blinking rapidly in a text Loki cannot read. 

Placing a hand on her shoulder, Loki goes to gently wake her and distract himself from his dark thoughts.

Dry, ice cold skin greets him. She shivers lightly under his touch.

_Oh no._

Falling to his knees beside the chair, Loki carefully tilts her back, reaching to cup her cheeks, patting them in an effort to rouse her. 

“Gamora? Gamora can you hear me?” Her head lolls to the side, heavy, without a trace of consciousness. Her breathing is faster than it should be, and her green skin has adopted a sickly hue. 

It is spreading. Whatever this is, it is spreading.

“Drax!” Loki shouts, and the slight wobble in his voice disturbs him. “Drax! Rocket! I need you in here!”

“Princess?” Rocket’s head pops up from the ladder leading below, and it would almost be comical if the situation was anything but.

“Rocket, she’s freezing.” 

Loki is still mad at Rocket, still puzzling over the strange behaviour towards him, but at the moment he could not care less.

“Shit.”

As Rocket hurries over Drax appears, Groot on his shoulder. Rocket clambers onto the arm of the chair, leaning over to pull apart her eyelids, and then reach for her pulse.

“Just like Peter.” He states, “Though without the lying wet on the bathroom floor part.”

“It is not some Terran illness then.” Drax says in a voice Loki recognises as controlled. “If it can spread to different species.”

“Shit.” Rocket says again. He grabs the datapad and runs his eyes over it. “Peter’s vitals haven’t changed.”

Drax moves forward. “Take Groot, I shall carry her to bed.” Groot is passed to Loki, and Drax carefully takes Gamora into his arms. She is limp, her body acting as if lifeless. It is highly unnerving. 

“Can you set up another datapad so we can monitor her?” Loki asks Rocket as they follow Drax towards the bedchamber. Rocket nods in response, and scurried off towards the medical room. On his shoulder, Groot huddles closer to Loki’s neck, and he reaches up to offer the plant a soothing hand.

“She would be more comfortable in looser clothes.” Drax states as he lays her down under the covers. “But I do not believe it is my place to undress her.”

“Where does she keep them?”

Drax gives Loki a judgemental glance. “Nor is it your place, either.”

“No, you misunderstand.” Loki puts his hands in the air reassuringly. “I could switch her clothes using my magic. She would not be left…Exposed, that way.”

“I see. Then I believe she keeps her clothing up here.” Drax reaches up into an overhead compartment, shifting a few items around before finally locating a set of pyjamas. Loki had seen her with them before. Drax hands them over.

“You will not be required to look, I hope.”

“No, I promise there is nothing indecent here.” Holding the clothes in one hand, Loki places the other on Gamora’s shoulder. Closing his eyes, Loki calls for his magic. It answers, swelling from his core and reaching out, sliding through his veins to engulf the items in his hand. For a brief moment it stills, and then slowly slips from one hand to the other. Under his palm, Loki feels the material on Gamora shift from leathers to something softer. Cautiously, he opens his eyes. 

“I am done.” He informs Drax, who has moved to check on Peter and deliberately kept his back to them. “How is Peter?”

“Cold.” Rocket answers instead, walking in through the door. “Not as bad as earlier, but cold. I have the stuff for Gamora.”

Loki moves out the way so Rocket can work, and gets the brief sense of déjà vu. 

“I am Groot?” Groot asks from Loki’s shoulder. He has curled into the space between Loki’s hair and ear, which is more uncomfortable than it sounds. Loki has a horrible feeling that if he turns his head too fast, the creature would be sent flying. 

Rocket laughs without humour.

“Nah, ain’t hay fever.”

“Is it Asgardian?” Drax is peering at Loki, brows drawn. “Asgard is closed to space, so you could have carried it here. That would explain why none of us recognise it.”

Rocket shoots a look over his shoulder, directing it at Loki accusingly. Loki ignores it in favour of addressing Drax.

“I have never heard of an illness which causes great cold. Or,” He adds when Rocket moves as if to speak, “One which manifests so late. I have been in these quarters for nearly a month, if it was indeed carried by myself, then either I or someone else would have been showing symptoms earlier.”

“Yeah, he does have a point.” Rocket agrees, though dejectedly. 

“I am Groot.”

“I think we are forgetting _who_ is becoming ill.” Loki thinks aloud. “Peter and Gamora. Two of the three who went inside the mansion. We know that the owner uses elaborate security to protect his items. Could this be another feature?”

There is a pause as the others mull over Loki’s suggestion. Rocket is nodding slowly.

“Yeah. Yeah I could see that.” He turns to Drax. “You feeling odd?”

“I am fine.”

“Speak honestly.” Loki reminds him. “If you feel even the slightest strange, now would be a good time to inform us.”

“No, I feel normal.”

“Maybe we should create a quarantine?” Rocket suggests to Loki, “Keep Drax in here with these two?”

“There would be little point.” Loki sighs, wincing as Groot shuffles closer into Loki’s neck, the rough bark scraping his skin. “We are in a confined space, and have been for weeks. If it is to spread to us, it will, no matter what we do.”

Rocket sits heavily on the edge of the bed. “Fuckin’ great.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok, ok I think I get it now guys. What everyone wants is for Loki to be hurt emotionally, and for Peter AND Gamora to be sick. Right. Got it. Duly noted.


	32. Chapter 32

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And another one gone, and another one gone, another one bites the dust!

There is no day or night, in space. Nor is there a sunrise or sunset, unless you sit back and watch a planet slowly circle a lonely star. Something about that creates an ache within the centre of Loki’s chest, a quiet longing for the stillness of early morning, when most of the palace was asleep, and he had the large halls to himself. 

There is a beautiful form of tranquillity in those early hours, where one can feel as if the entire world is sleeping within their beds, and you are the sole person witnessing the birth of a new day.

They have entered what Rocket called ‘deep space’. It is black and deep, with only the distant specks of stars to remind travellers that they are not alone in the universe. If Loki was to properly look, he is sure he would be able to see for miles of pure emptiness between them and anything else floating in the abyss.

Their slumber had not been peaceful. The sounds of Peter and Gamora shivering had echoed around the otherwise silent bedchamber, and more than once someone rose to check on the two. 

Loki got the sense that his confrontation with Rocket had been momentarily placed on hold in favour of caring for their teammates, though as tensions rise with worry that may become strained. At the very least, Loki shall have to try and cooperate with Rocket, even if this is not reciprocated. He has yet to be paid, after all.

“I am Groot!”

The doors to the bedchamber slide open and the sounds of small feet thud against the metal floor. Sighing deeply, Loki sits up in bed, noting that both Rocket and Drax are missing. 

“I am Groot! I am Groot!”

Swinging his legs out of the bed, Loki bends to take Groot into his hands. The plant clings to his fingers, jumping on his palm urgently. 

“I cannot understand you.” Loki reminds calmly. “What is wrong, is it Gamora and Peter?”

Loki stands and moves towards the two bunks. Peter has curled up on his side; eyes squeezed shut and blanket wrapped firmly around his shaking frame. Gamora is on her back, but fairing no better. Loki goes to check her pulse, but Groot begins hopping in his palms again.

“I am _Groot!_ ”

Loki huffs.

“Can you show me?”

Nodding, Groot points out the door and Loki obediently leaves the room, following the directions towards the kitchen. As he approaches the sound of Rocket talking can be heard through the door.

“I am Groot!”

“Yes, yes, I am going. Do not nag.”

“I am Groot…”

“You were and you know it.”

Entering the room, Loki stops short, eyes widening at the scene eerily familiar to the day before.

“Oh fuck, am I right?” Rocket says dryly. He is crouched on the floor, beside the very much unconscious Drax. Even from where he stands Loki can see that the man is shivering violently. 

This situation is becoming increasingly worrying.

Joining Rocket on the floor and moving Groot to his shoulder, Loki carefully feels for Drax’s breathing and pulse. Rocket has already placed the circular disks onto Drax, and is watching a variety of texts on the datapad.

“Like the others?”

“Yep.” Rocket nods, popping the word in his mouth. Loki swallows, and settled back onto his heels.

“Peter explained to me how- ow, Groot no.” Loki releases a lock of hair from the plant’s tight grip. “He explained the internet to me when we created my bank account, is there nothing on there which could be of use?” 

Rocket taps something on the datapad and tries to hand it over to him, but Loki does not take it.

“I’m afraid the Allspeak does not affect text, so I cannot read it.” He pauses for a moment. “Unless you can translate it into runes?”

“Nah, you lot are the only people who write that, and you’re not even space bound.”

“Yes, I suppose that is true. So, is there anything?”

Rocket shakes his head, reading something on the screen. “Pretty much all of it requires the person to have been somewhere cold, and…Well they haven’t.” 

“What about poisons? Or venom?”

“Look, if there was something, I’d have found it by now!” Rocket snaps, and Loki holds his hands up peacefully. “Anyway, how do I know none of this is your doing?”

“My… Rocket I do not think-”

“Nah, the thing is, _frosty_ ,” Rocket stands, slowly marching closer towards Loki, pointing an accusing finger. “I find it mighty suspicious that they all come down sick after we get the crown, which you _know_ is worth a ton.”

He is baiting him; Loki must remember that Rocket is baiting him. He cannot let himself be drawn into this like a moth to flame. He must focus on the task at hand, he cannot and will not allow himself to be compromised by this animal, and risk being cut from the winnings.

“Rocket-”

“No, I’ve had it up to here with your _bullshit!_ ” Rocket’s fur is bristling; his hands are in tight fists. The datapad lays forgotten on the floor, beside Drax. “You know what? Thanks, you were a great help, now fuck off. Airlock’s that way.”

A sense of dread rises within Loki’s throat at the thought of being ejected out of the ship, into the wide openness of space. From here there might not even be the chance that he would fall, but simply drift in the emptiness. 

Breathe in, breathe out.

“Rocket.” Loki tries again. “I understand how my… Heritage, and this ailment may seem connected. However I can assure you that it is not. I was unaware of… I have no experience with that side of my being. I would not know how to do something this complex. Actually,” He holds up a finger when Rocket goes to interrupt. “I doubt that this is something that could be done by Frost Giants to begin with. They are slow creatures, and at best simply encase things in ice. I cannot believe they could do something as complex as all of this.”

“I am Groot.” Groot adds weakly, and Loki suddenly flinches as cold bark is pressed into his neck. Carefully reaching up, Loki gently brushes his fingers against Groot’s face.

“Rocket, he is cool to the touch.”

Instantly the angered expression falls from Rocket’s face in place something softer. He reaches his arms up, and Loki quietly untangles Groot from his hair, handing him over. Groot buries himself into Rocket’s fur.

“Oh buddy…” Rocket mutters, running a hand over Groot’s back. “Not you too.” Groot whimpers something and curls into Rocket tighter. Loki swallows.

“Please, Rocket.” The other continues comforting Groot, but the way his shoulders tense tell Loki that he is listening. “My magic still weakens easily; I would be unable to keep something like this going for as long as it has. You saw what happened during the mission, I ran dry relatively swiftly. To cause three separate people this much distress would ruin me in a matter of hours.”

“I am Groot…”

“Even if I was behind this.” Loki continues. “I would have no reason to do this to Groot, would I?”

Rocket visibly stiffens at that, and glances to Groot snuggled into his chest. His tail swings around his feet.

“I swear…” Rocket’s voice is low, dangerous. “If I find out you are behind this-”

“I am not, trust me.”

“Trust the God of Lies?” Rocket laughs darkly. “Don’t fucking think so.”

Somehow, that hurts far more than the Frost Giant jabs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Drax and Peter later form the ‘Guys Left Lying Unconscious on the Ground while Everyone Argues’ support club.


	33. Chapter 33

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Loki makes a breakthrough

The ship has never felt so small.

It is the early hours of the morning, dark and quiet, and Loki is sat crossed-legged on his bunk, datapad on his lap. With only two people well, he and Rocket have been forced to take shifts during the night to ensure everybody stays breathing and remains at a constant temperature. 

The engines hum on autopilot, vibrating through the walls and the window against Loki’s back. Rocket has declared that they will continue heading towards Knowhere despite the situation. Loki had originally made to argue, however after the earlier confrontation decided against it. Throughout the day Rocket had either ignored Loki, or talked to him using the most minimal amount of words possible, and he did not want to stir anything up.

Now that Groot has fallen to the ailment, it had become strikingly clear that this was worry channelled into rage. Much like mischief, Loki was all too familiar with that. While Odin had never shouted at Loki, favouring instead to have quiet, stern words, he had certainly confused concern with anger enough times during their childhood for Loki to pick up on the habit. Usually it involved Thor somehow.

The example of Thor’s banishment sprung to mind.

( _“You cannot even protect your friends, how can you hope to protect your kingdom? Get him to the healing room, now!”_ )

There was something else to Rocket’s anger, though, something darker. How he had managed to discover Loki’s origin Loki did not know. Maybe Rocket had seen the footage from the medical bay, when Gamora had pressed ice against him and caused his skin to react, or maybe he had read about it on those gossiping datapads. Whatever means he had used, Rocket knew, and now was taunting the knowledge over his head. 

Why?

As far as Loki could see, there was nothing to gain here. In fact, there had been nothing to spur it on. They had worked well during the mission, staying out of each other’s way and keeping the other informed. Rocket had told Loki where he was needed several times, and Loki had assisted the group retrieve the crown. Rocket had even shown genuine concern when Loki became trapped when returning his consciousness. While he had not been able to verbally speak, Loki had heard Rocket’s attempts to gain his attention, and only later realised that Rocket had been shaking him.

Could it have been the fallout, something about seeing Loki unwell afterwards?

No, it could not have been that. Loki had been ill after the trip to Bunla and his encounter with Yondu. As far as Loki was aware, Rocket had steered clear of him during that time and instead set up the mission plan with Gamora.

So between them getting along during the mission and Peter becoming sick, something had changed.

Rocket had been concerned over Peter, so had Loki and Gamora, but anxiety turned aggressive would have resulted in snapping and harsh words. But Rocket had done more than that, instead deliberately baiting Loki into a violent reaction. Why though? Why did he purposefully bring up Odin? And why had Rocket done it again so soon afterwards, and wilted when Loki did not rise to the challenge?

Rocket had wanted a reaction. Each time, Rocket had wanted a reaction. 

Loki sits up straighter on the bed, eyes widening in realisation.

Oh. _Oh_ , there it was. There was the missing puzzle piece he had been unable to find earlier. They had got along, and then Rocket deliberately sabotaged any forming relationship. He goaded Loki into arguments, and then kept that negative momentum going.

In his bed, Rocket curls tighter. Somewhere beneath his bedsheets, he is holding Groot, tying to keep the small plant warm. For the entire day he has carried Groot around, instead of leaving him comfortable in a bed.

Rocket is protective of Groot, who had previously been an adult friend to Rocket and Rocket alone. Now Groot was no longer who he used to be, his companionship and stability had been taken away. From this, Rocket had forged new relationships with those on this ship. Now they were being taken as well. Rocket had seen Peter unwell and, fuelled by fear, lashed out. He would stop relationships before they started, for that hurt less.

Loki had never had much in the way of friends on Asgard, outside of Thor. His companions tolerated him rather than enjoyed his company, but that was a mutual feeling. If it was not for Thor, each side knew they would not be interacting with the other. 

Loki could not say he understood the behaviour of Rocket, for he had never been in a position to do so; however he knew the feeling of abandonment rather well. Loki knew the way the chest constricted when it felt as if the entire universe had left you behind, and he knew the horrible and lonesome feeling of trying to pick yourself back up afterwards, even if there was no one to truly support you. 

Loki’s reaction had been to get high, alone and numb in some back alley street. Rocket’s first instinct was to stop any forming relationship with harsh words, and save himself the pain of being cast out later on.

Something spikes on the datapad, making it vibrate and Loki jump. Scrambling out of his thoughts, he examines the vitals, eyes falling onto those of Peter’s heartbeat. Frowning, Loki glances up to Peter’s bed. He is no longer shivering.

“Peter?”

Standing, leaving the pad on the bed, Loki quickly crosses the room. Peter lies unnaturally still, and as Loki places a palm on his shoulder he cannot even feel the rise and fall of breath.

“Peter!” Loki rolls the man onto his back, leaning to listen over the chest. His heart is sluggish, stuttering, struggling. An odd, strangled noise is wheezing from his throat. “Rocket!” Loki shouts over his shoulder, uncaring if he disturbs any of the others. “Rocket! Wake up! Peter’s not breathing!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rocket pushes people away when he begins to like them (The drunk scene in Volume 1 on Knowhere, all of Volume 2), so after a successful mission where he and Loki worked well together? This really should not be that much of a surprise.


	34. Chapter 34

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> CLEAR!!

Apparently, there are different medical procedures for such a situation between Asgard and wider space.

“Why the fuck you just standing there? Help me!”

“I do not know what you are doing!”

Rocket is rhythmically pumping on Peter’s chest, counting under his breath as he does. Loki watches bewildered, magic swelling on his fingertips.

“What do you mean you don’t know?”

“We do not do this on Asgard!”

“So you let them _die_?”

“No!”

“Then what do you do?”

Pushing Rocket back, Loki slams his palm onto the still chest, magic zapping into Peter’s body, harsh and violent. Peter arches, snaps open his eyes and gasps, hands grabbing onto the bedding without control. Pushing his hand up Peter’s chest to just below the base of the neck, Loki demands his magic into Peter’s throat, caressing the air that is now there from the gasp to inflate the lungs. Rocket grabs onto Peter’s head, forcing unfocused eyes to face him.

“Quill, listen, you need to breathe!”

Loki is not entirely sure Peter is with them, that the open eyes are more a bodily response than anything else, but he does not stop Rocket from trying. Upon feeling Peter’s chest rise he forces his magic to exhale the air and bring in fresh. 

“Quill? C’mon, listen to me and breathe.”

“I’m not going to help with this next breathe.” Loki informs Rocket, their eyes locking. “See if you can feel him doing it on his own.”

Loki’s magic travels back into his palm, retreating from Peter’s body. For several long seconds, Peter’s body remains motionless, and Rocket shakes his head rapidly.

“He’s not… You need to-”

Peter’s chest suddenly rises, shakily but there, and Loki wilts against the edge of the bed, sinking to his knees and burying his head into his arms. Rocket mutters something under his breath, too quiet for him to hear.

“Norns…” Loki whispers. Swallowing, he lifts his head to cast his eyes over the other bunks. “How is everyone else?”

“I…” Rocket is sat back on his heels, his tail swishing behind his back. “I dunno, I’d better…Groot?” As Rocket moves off the bed to peer under his bedcovers, Loki stands, wobbly, and crosses to the room to Gamora. It is a relief to find her breathing, and the same for Drax. 

Loki sits heavily onto his bunk, leaning forward without noticing to put his head into his hands.

“Let’s…” Rocket starts, but his voice trails away. Sighing, Loki runs a hand over his face and picks up the abandoned datapad, watching the vitals of the four. 

A silence falls over them, neither comfortable nor unpleasant. Shock, Loki assumes, is catching up on them. Rocket has a hand on a small lump under his sheets and is staring off into the distance with vacant eyes. 

Loki swallows again, willing away the lump forming in his throat.

“If…If you wish to return to sleep, you can.” Loki’s voice is quiet, weaker than he would expect. “It is still my turn, I can-”

“No. No I don’t think I can…” Rocket shakes his head, and focusses in on Peter. “You’ve been up longer, if you want to-”

“I do not believe I can, either.” Setting the datapad down, Loki rises and crosses the room. “I’m going to get a chair from the kitchen, so I can sit by his bed and listen out for anything. Do you want-”

“Yes.”

“Right, of course.” 

Swiftly leaving the room, Loki hurries to the kitchen and stacks two chairs together, carefully manoeuvring them through the doorway and into the bedchamber. He sets them up beside Peter, and Rocket is quick to jump into one, Groot now wrapped in a small blanket and hugged to his chest. The way he is angled makes it clear that he does not want Loki noticing in the dark room, so Loki decides against commenting and instead grabs the datapad and sits heavily in his own chair.

Silence emerges between them once more, both lost in their own thoughts. As a relative outsider, Loki does not know what impact the death of Peter would have of the team. He can only assume that, after the mourning period, the team would move on. Then again, if they would be able to stay are a close-knit team is another story. 

Peter, from what Loki has observed, is the mediator of the group. He is able to be level-headed like Gamora, and childish like Groot, and he is able to laugh with Drax’s strange sense of humour while also causing mischief with Rocket. 

Peter is also able to see from everyone’s perspective in a way the other cannot, and back everyone up on their ideas. Not always, there are definite clashes, but enough that without his presence, Loki doubts that the ‘Guardians of the Galaxy’ would be as successful as they currently are.

Loki shakes his head of the thought, and settles in for a long night just listening to Peter breathe.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here we have Peter, taking the phrase 'you take my breathe away' a little too far.


	35. Chapter 35

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Someone mentioned how my summaries can say literally nothing about the chapter. Therefore, because I think I'm hilarious, all I'm going to say for this chapter is:
> 
> Beer. It exists.

“You are drunk.” Loki blurts as he steps into the kitchen, eyes locking onto the numerous empty glass bottles strewn across the table top. He had been intending to retrieve a glass of water, but that thought is long gone as Rocket blinks blearily up at him.

“So what if I am?”

Loki frowns. “I do not think it is wise considering-”

“I don’t take orders from you!” Rocket snaps. “You ain’t even on the team!”

Loki plasters a pleasant smile on his lips. “Be that as it may, we have critically sick on-board. You will be of no use like this.”

“Fuck you.”

“Eloquent.”

Rocket reaches for a new bottle, but Loki swiftly crosses the room and plucks it from his hand. Rocket growls but Loki ignores it in favour of stashing the rest of the alcohol in the highest possible cupboard. 

“You know what your problem is, frosty?” Rocket slurs. “You’re too uptight. Then again, you’re proba’ly used to people treating your shit like gold, so…” Rocket trails off with a grimace. “I had a point there…”

“I suggest you go sober up, quickly.” Loki crosses his arms. “I do not intent to be the sole carer for-”

“ _I do not intend to be the sole carer_.” Rocket mocks. “Fuck, are all Ass-whatsits like this? Wait, no,” He waves his hand. “You ain’t even that, are ya? Frost Giant, right?”

“Rocket.” Loki’s voice is stern, unweathering. “I am not going to rise to your bait any longer.”

“My bait?”

“You are baiting me, poorly here, because you’re scared.” Rocket’s shoulders tense, and his tail freezes behind his back. “You are scared of getting close to people in case they hurt you, or die.”

“Shut up!”

“You have been trying to antagonise me for days, because we were getting along-”

“Shut _up!_ ”

Loki draws closer, eyes narrowed at Rocket. “It is not going to work. Stop throwing these insults at me, I refuse to play your game.”

“Insults?” Rocket snarls, pulling himself off the chair and onto the table, standing on unsteady legs. “You called me a racoon! You called me rodent!”

“You called me Frost Giant!” Loki counters, controlling the volume of his voice with only a small amount of issue. His hands grip at the material covering his elbows painfully.

“You hit me into a mirror, you tried to hurt me!”

“And your words did not?” Loki looms over the table, trying very hard to breathe slowly and push-away overactive thoughts. “Your comments about my heritage, my…About Odin, they were not designed to cause offense?”

“I was just feeding some truths to the God of Lies.” 

Oh, how he loathes that title.

“Rocket.” Loki says, slowly, voice dripping with warning. 

“You are a bright blue, red eyed _Frost Giant_ too scared to even show his true skin.” Rocket stalks up to him, standing on the very edge of the table. He speaks dark and dangerous, and almost all traces of slurring vanish from his voice. Against his tongue, Loki feels the teeth of his bottom jaw quiver, and he quickly tries to cover the movement by working his jaw.

“ _Rocket_.” Magic jitters within him, nervous and tense. Loki has always prided himself at maintaining the illusion of confidence, yet here he is, struggling to maintain eye contact with a forest creature.

“You hide behind this white-skinned illusion ‘cause you’re nothing more than a scarred, pathetic little Princess used to controlling the situation.”

“Rock-”

“It’s no wonder no one searched for you after you fell!” Rocket yells, and Loki flinches back despite himself. “Who would?”

“I did not _ask_ to be a monster!” The shout echoes in Loki’s ears and his hands jerk into fists at his side before he can check himself. Brilliant green magic flares, booming from his body as he lurches forward, though to do what he has no idea. His chest heaves at the outburst, and Rocket steps back, eyes wide. 

(“ _Mother, I’m sorry! I got lost and-”_

 _“It is ok, little one. I found you._ ”)

But no one _had_. Loki was still here, lost in outer space. There had been no contact, no Heimdall, no ‘missing’ page on the internet of the universe. There had been no spells, no vision-esque dreams to tell him it was all going to be ok, that they were looking for him and that he was loved.

He had been left in the cold abyss. It was almost poetic, in a way. Odin had found him, helpless in the wastelands of Jotunheim, and now he had been cast out into the numbness of space, abandoned, forgotten. 

Odin should never have picked him up, it was pointless, worthless.

He is trembling, magic swirling beneath the skin like startled birds. It is as if someone has wound the mechanism to a music box and lifted the lid; the music springs into life unable to fight against the wheels and gadgets controlling it.

“I did not _ask_ Odin to pick me up!” His mouth spills, mind moving a mile a minute. “I did not ask him to keep it from me! I did not ask him to raise me as his own, to teach me that _Frost Giants_ are monsters, that they are beastly creatures which steal children from their beds! I did not…I did not…” Shaking, he lifts his hands to his face, gulping to try and catch his breath; to try and close the music box before any more could be heard.

“Princess?”

“He did not have to.” He whispers, the words painful in this throat. “I did not demand it. I did not have to be Crowned Prince; I _should not_ have been it. He was knee-deep in Frost Giant blood, why…Why did he…”

“Prin- Hey, stop it!”

“Why make me Thor’s brother, Frigga’s son? He wanted an alliance; why not lock me in the dungeons with the other animals? Why-”

Loki jumps as small hands grab onto his wrists, and blinks wet eyes at Rocket. They are both on the floor, but when that happened Loki has no idea, and Rocket is holding his hands far apart. 

Dazed, Loki turns his gaze to his fingers. Dark blood is etched under his nails, and both hands sport long, deep scratch marks.

Oh.

Loki knew that habit would cause damage one day.

“You back?” Rocket asks gruffly. Loki nods. “Good. Now shut up.” Releasing his wrists, Rocket sits heavily beside Loki, crossing his arms. After a pause he speaks lowly, not looking at Loki. “Sorry, about the Fr- the comments.”

Loki tries not to allow his breath to hitch in a sob. “I…I apologise too.” He swallows. “I should not have said such things, or tried to cause you harm with my magic.”

A beat of silence falls between them, neither sure where to go from here. Loki closes his eyes and forces his breathing to even. In through the nose, out through the mouth, just like he was always taught.

His cheeks are wet.

“They really raised you to hate what you are?” There’s an element of bewilderment to the question, as if Rocket cannot fathom such a thing. “I get blatant racism, but why pretend you aren’t what you are?”

“Odin…He said he wanted to protect me from the truth.”

“Some truth.”

“Indeed.” 

Rocket shuffled awkwardly, idle fingers twisting a piece of stray thread from his jacket. “Princess?”

“Hm?” When Rocket does not continue, Loki glances at him to find Rocket curling into himself. Frowning, he leans a little closer. “Rocket?”

“Are they gonna die?” It is said so softly that Loki nearly misses it. “Are they…I don’t know what I’ll do if they…”

Something painful clenches in Loki’s chest. He breathes it away, and allows his mind to revel in the distraction, a puzzle to push away the unwanted thoughts swirling within him and threatening to tip him over the edge.

“If we could just work out where it originated, how they got an unknown sickness, then we might be able to find a cure. Why have-” He stops as Rocket touches his arm, and realises his fingers are back to scratching at his skin again. He deliberately places them on his knees and continues. “Why have we not fallen to it?”

“We’ve all eaten the same stuff.” Rocket thinks aloud. “Drank the same stuff. What have they come into contact with that we haven’t?”

The activities of the last week play across Loki’s mind as he tightens his fisted hands to stop them shaking. 

Concentrate on the puzzle, and bury the unwanted emotions.

They went out and investigated in the town, and had the indecent with the planting of drugs. They had the mission, involving Peter, Gamora, and Drax to enter the mansion. When those three began to suffer from this illness, they had assumed it was something to do with the mansion, but that would not explain why Groot had fallen as well. Nor why they did so at different times. 

What had the four of them all come into contact with, but not Rocket or Loki? If they had not eaten or drank anything different, then that left only saturation through the skin as the only means of contamination, strong enough to work on Groot’s bark. Something new, that only they had touched-

Loki’s hand snaps out to grab Rocket, eyes widening.

“I know what it is.”

Rocket sits up straight. “What?”

“It’s the crown.” Loki turns to face him, and realisation dawns over Rocket’s face. “Rocket, it’s the crown.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Loki, the God of Lies - i.e. Let me tell myself that Rocket's insults don't effect me woops there I go having a meltdown
> 
> Some of you caught on pretty quickly that it was the crown causing the illness. Apologies for the kinda non-replies I gave you, I was trying to dodge spoilers!


	36. Chapter 36

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which we get, like, ONE answer to all the questions of the moment

The crown had been stored away in a safe on the bridge, and they both go racing to it, Rocket falling onto his knees and tapping in the code. As the thick door is tugged open, Loki instantly grabs a fistful of Rocket’s jacket to pulls him away.

“Norns…” Very carefully holding out a hand, he gently presses against the large swell of magic emitting from the crown. It is thick, violent, and being in the mere presence of such sorcery is a danger for the two of them.

“Princess?” Rocket wriggles out of Loki’s grip, but stays back. “What-”

“It is magic.” Loki cuts off, eyes never leaving the crown sat innocently in the safe. “I believe there was a reason this was stored below the ground.”

“Shit.” Rocket mutters. “ _Shit_. How bad?”

“I do not know, yet. However the field around it is big, so keep your distance.”

“Won’t it affect you?”

“Possibly, but I have to get close to try and understand it. If I can, I might be able to work out a cure.”

“I thought you said it wasn’t magical?” Rocket frowns. “When Peter first became ill?”

“And that is correct, which is why I need to get close and understand what is going on.”

The crown is singing under his cautious touch. Well, maybe ‘singing’ is not quite the word, but it is very much reacting to him. He can feel tendrils reaching out, caressing his fingers in an attempt to drawn him in, but Loki moves at his own pace. 

Magic itself is not poisonous. Can it be _used_ to poison someone? Yes, but never directly. If someone wished to corrupt a person’s body magic can only assist in two ways. The first is to cause physical harm, sending magic into the body of the victim and wreaking havoc on the flesh (as Loki had attempted with Rocket in the bathroom). However this leaves the attacker exposed to accusation and capture, so more often the second option was put into place. 

Magic was one of the most deadly sirens Loki had ever witnessed. It can call into people’s heads; persuade them to their doom with gentle touches and elegant nudges. The voice of magic need not be literal, but rather the feeling of lack of control, impulse. And here, against his hand, Loki could feel the need to reach out and clasp the crown, to run his fingers over the smooth metal and trace each little gemstone.

“The crown is cursed.” Loki states, not facing Rocket. “This magic is deadly.”

“What’s it do?”

“It encourages people to touch the crown, which I suspect is laced with venom.” Drawing his hand back, Loki absently rubs his fingers into his knuckles. 

“Right, ok.” Rocket shifts about, mulling something over. “Why though?”

Loki shrugs. “It was probably placed by the original owner to keep thieving hands away. It is not uncommon; Thor and I handled many a cursed objects on our travels. The illness might even be specific, so the owner knew exactly who took their crown.”

“So if we could get a sample…We could get a cure?”

“I believe so.” Loki nods, standing. “However I am unsure how much help I can be. I do not know much in the way of…” He trails off as Rocket just nods absently and goes running off the bridge. Huffing, Loki turns his gaze back to the crown.

Honestly, if Loki had been given the chance to _see_ the object, then this whole situation could have been avoided. Even just by looking he can tell this item is deadly. Maybe if he had accompanied the foot party into the mansion, maybe if he had cast his illusions from the corridors instead of the ship, then there would not be four people sick and struggling in the bedchamber. 

Rocket returns with a pair of gloves and a cotton bud, hastily crossing the room to Loki.

“If I wear these, will it be ok?”

“Let me see.” Taking them Loki places his fingers against the inside, and then with his other hand tries to carefully push a small amount of magic into the glove, testing to see if he can feel the magic seep through. It does not, and Loki hands them back to Rocket. “They are fine.”

“Great.” Rocket slips them on, though they are clearly too big for him and go beyond the elbow. “I’m going to get a sample.”

They both squat next to the safe, and hesitantly Rocket reaches for the crown, lifting it and bringing it up to his face.

“If you feel the impulse to remove the gloves, stop.” Loki instructs, watching as Rocket runs the cotton bud over the smooth surface of the crown were hands would naturally grab. For a brief moment Loki expects the cotton to become damp, but it does not. Of course, having something noticeably damp on the crown would rouse suspicion. However, the whiteness does become tainted with a faint purple colour. 

“Think that’s enough?” Rocket asks, glancing at Loki, his tail swishing around his feet. Loki sighs unhelpfully.

“I do not know toxins outside of Asgard and the Nine Realms, so I do not know.”

Rocket mutters something lowly, clearly uneasy at the entire situation, and puts the crown back into the safe, nudging the door closed with a foot.

“Well, I can come back for more. These gloves are going out the airlock though.”

“A wise decision.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Good thing those Ancient Greeks never got the crown - You can't exactly put beeswax all over your hands AND steer a ship
> 
>  
> 
> I'm tired, I referred to the crown as a 'siren', so an obscure Odyssey reference is all you're getting.


	37. Chapter 37

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Loki makes a worrying discovery while the author realises it took 37 chapters to get the story to the ACTUAL PLOT OF THIS FIC HOLY-

Rocket locks himself into the medical bay, determination on his face and an armful of tubes and gadgets that Loki neither recognises nor understands. He does try to give Loki a brief description of his intentions and methods, but after noticing Loki’s blank expression quickly abandons that venture in favour of hankering down to examine the sample. 

Loki decides it best to leave him be and instead returns to the bedchamber and settles into one of the kitchen stairs still in the room. At the very least he can be useful by watching over their sick.

The four all appear peaceful for now, so Loki swipes up a datapad and opens up a search bar. 

When they had set up his online account, Peter had explained the uses of the internet to Loki, the dos and don’ts and where to look for resources. In truth, Loki finds himself utterly entranced by the idea of having any information you wanted right at your fingertips. In Asgard, research required a lot of back and forth, going from book to book in an effort to find the single fact you wanted. If you were particularly unlucky, one would have to trek from library to library in search of the one scroll you needed, the one text which was vital to your learning and was almost certainly taken out the day before. 

Being a Crowned Prince had its perks, including the subtle hinting that if a book was not returned to the library swiftly, then a certain patronage might have to be cut.

Odin chastised him, Frigga rolled her eyes, and Thor laughed. 

Bringing up the virtual keyboard, Loki types in the name ‘Asgard’ and hits the search button. Now he is without distraction a certain thought which has been bugging Loki for nearly a month has risen to the forefront of his mind. 

Asgard and the Nine Realms are closed to open space. That is law. 

Yet within an hour of meeting Loki, the Guardian’s had discovered exactly where he is from, what he had done, and the events on the Bifrost bridge. Even more concerning was the fact that Rocket had since been able to discover Loki’s heritage (even if he had seen camera footage from the medical bay, he still had managed to discover the name ‘Frost Giant’ all by himself). 

Asgard and the Nine Realms are closed to outer space. The people are not told of the world outside the Nine, and no one is permitted to enter. Even when the team had first discovered Asgard, they had read aloud that it was “not only prohibited, but ill-advised” to visit. There should be no conceivable way that anyone out here should be able to research Asgard and the Nine, let alone see _pictures_.

Yet, as soon as Loki hits ‘search’, a wealth of images spring up under his fingers. There are photographs of everything; the palace, the courtyards, the Bifrost and the markets. There are pictures of people walking through streets and performing in parades, pictures of Odin on a balcony, Thor on one side, Frigga and Loki on another. 

For a brief moment Loki stares at that particular image, swallowing as his gaze slowly moves from one person to another. They are all wearing their ceremonial outfits, brooches and helmets and armour gleaming in the sunshine. This was taken maybe a little over a year ago, during the festival of-

Sucking in a sharp breath, Loki flicks away the image and switches to the website results. There are only two entries, thank the Norns, but their presence is still nonetheless disconcerting. 

The top result turns out to be a webpage from something called the ‘Nova Empire’ and contains the brief but strict information on the prohibition of entrance into Asgard’s territories, including Earth. Underneath is a list of penalties and charges one could face if there is an attempt to enter their area of space. 

Well, at the very least not all of this was bad news. Having others understanding Asgard’s privacy and cautioning others off with the threat of punishment will hopefully deter curious eyes, though having no information at all would be better still. Nonexistence was the greatest invisibility. 

The second webpage is a lot more concerning. 

It has a homemade quality to it, nothing like the Nova Empire page. There are typos and pixelated images, and Loki receives the impression that whoever made this had little experience with the internet. However, despite the shoddy appearance what the page discusses it a lot for concerning.

Loki feels his body growing tense as he scrolls further and further down the page.

He finds details of Asgard’s security systems and their guardsmen.

He finds currency translators and cultural differences to the rest of space.

He finds a complex and intricate list of all those in Asgard of high status.

Then, at the bottom, is a link to a page on the royal family. Loki taps it, and is greeted by the image of Odin, Thor, and Frigga in court. Loki’s own picture is separate, and clearly shows him a year or so ago, talking to a member of the Council during a meeting.

Councils were strictly private events, away from all prying eyes. 

How had someone managed to take this?

The information was no less comforting.

_‘The current royal family consists of the Allfather Odin, his wife, Frigga, and their son Thor. Their adopted son and Frost Giant Loki perished after falling from the Bifrost. Since this event, the Bifrost has remained broken and unusable.’_

“Princess!” Rocket barges into the room at top speed, barely slowing to acknowledge Loki (who all but drops the datapad and flails about wildly to catch it) as he hurries to Peter’s side, “I’ve got it!”

Mind struggling to catch up with the sudden topic shift Loki blinks dumbly for a moment.

“You have got…You have found a cure?”

“Yeah, turns out this,” Rocket waves a little container of a lilac substance. “Is just a plant toxin from the planet the crown comes from.”

Loki stands, but keeps the datapad in his hands. “But I thought that you checked for toxins, and the symptoms did not match?”

“They didn’t.” Rocket carefully pulls Peter onto his back, and then lifts his head. “That is, nothing matched for known space. The crown? Comes from a sparsely inhabited planet just outside the Kree Empire. Barely anything there and pretty much useless to everyone.”

“So because no one goes, it was not documented.”

“Exactly.”

“And this.” Loki indicated the liquid, which Rocket is carefully tipping into Peter’s mouth. “Will cure it?”

“Yep!” Rocket pops the word, watching to make sure Peter swallows. “It was a shitton easier than I thought it would be. Give me a hand with Drax, would ya?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ‘Nonexistence was the greatest invisibility.’ – Your Dark World counterpart might agree with you there, Loki!
> 
> Also, yes. You read the summary correct. We are now at the end of Act 2, and the plot we are now heading into is the actual story I intended to tell. Unfortunately for me, the characters simply were not ready for it, resulting of 37 chapters of pure filler and character development.
> 
> Btw, I am currently writing chapter 54, and we are STILL not totally into the proper plot yet. This fic is gonna be the death of me.


	38. Chapter 38

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Took them long enough

Out of all of them, Groot is the first to wake. Apparently, having a smaller body means the antidote does not have to get around as much. Rocket is delighted, and chats away to Groot eagerly as the plant blinks around, dazed but recovering. 

Gamora is next, staring confused at Loki for a full three seconds before snapping upright and flinging a dagger from beneath her pillow at his head. It is only the years of dealing with Sif that save Loki’s skull, and the knife embeds itself deeply into the opposite wall.

“Good morning to you as well.”

“Where…?” She is breathing hard. “What…?”

“You have been unwell.” Loki approaches with his hands out, as if moving towards a spooked horse. “The same illness that plagued Peter. We gave you the antidote yesterday, how do you feel?”

Her body relaxes, and she swallows thickly, now not meeting his eyes and instead glancing around the room. 

“Like shit.”

“You have been shivering almost continuously for several days, I would image your muscles would be sore for a while.”

“Peter?”

“He has yet to wake, but his temperature is returning to normal.” It is probably best she does not hear about his near-death experience yet. The last thing they need is for her to panic and injure herself. Or him. “Drax too.”

“Drax has been sick?”

“Yes, not long after you. Groot as well.”

Gamora shoots him a bewildered look. “So you and Rocket?”

“Yes?”

“And we still have a ship?”

Loki laughs good-naturedly. “You do, though I believe the junk pile on the bridge has grown.”

Gamora groans and falls back onto her pillow, hands over her face. Loki laughs again.

Both Rocket and Loki had expected Drax to be the loudest to wake, and the most violent. Instead, he was the quietest. So quiet in fact that Loki jumped when he turned away from checking on Peter to find a pair of eyes watching him.

“Drax?” Frowning, Loki approaches the bed, unsure how awake the man is. 

“How long?”

Grabbing the chair in the middle of the room, Loki places it by Drax’s bed and sits. “A few days.”

“I see.” Drax rolls onto his back, a hand running over his head. “I do not recall becoming ill.”

“Rocket found you collapsed in the kitchen, the morning after Gamora went down.”

“And now I have been cured?” Drax’s gaze drifts to the open window. Loki does not join him.

“Yes, Rocket gave you the antidote yesterday.”

“Good.” A pause, and then. “I wish to get up.”

“That might not- Careful!” Drax has sat up and swung his legs over the side of the bed. “Your body may still be weakened, to rest would-”

“I need the bathroom.” Drax interrupts blandly, giving Loki a pointed look. Loki stutters.

“Ah. Well, let me assist you there, then.”

Peter, unsurprisingly, is the last to recover. He comes to around late evening, when Rocket is helping Gamora, Drax, and Groot in the kitchen prepare a light meal. 

It starts as a gentle hitch in breathing, and for the briefest of moments fear shudders down Loki’s spine, sharp eyes watching Peter’s chest rise and fall. When a hand moves under the covers Loki allows his body to relax, and puts down the datapad (having spent the last half hour scrolling through worrying pictures of Asgard) so he can place a hand on Peter’s shoulder.

“Peter? Can you hear me?” He asks softly. The lights have been dimmed as to not hurt his eyes. In response, Peter groans.

“G’mora?”

Loki chuckles. “Unfortunately, no. It is Loki.”

“Loki?” Peter’s face scrunches up, and his tongue darts out to lick his lips. With a tired sigh he cracks open his eyes. Green meets baby blue. “Shit.”

Loki snorts. “Charming. How do you feel?”

“Like I got run over by a bilgesnipe.” Peter croaks, and rolls onto his side, curling into himself. 

“Any chest pain?”

“A little…Am I dying?”

Loki bites back responding with a ‘you tried’ and shakes his head. “No, Rocket gave you the antidote yesterday.”

“Fuck,” Peter breathes. “Ow, everything aches.”

“You have been shivering almost nonstop. According to Gamora it fades after a while.”

“Gamora’s been sick too?”

“Yes, and Drax and Groot. The crown was laced with a plant toxin.”

“Ugh.” Peter rolls again, this time ending up face first in his pillow. “I feel gross. Hey, can we put my music on?”

By lunchtime the following morning Peter is stumbling about the ship singing at the top of his lungs as his precious music tape is reset for the thirty-eighth time.

“Next time,” Rocket moans to Loki, hands over his ears, “Forget the CPR.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lady Sif would be so proud of Gamora


	39. Chapter 39

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which instead of giving you answers, the author gives you more questions which you didn't even realise needed to be asked!

It has been a week since the ailment took down four of the team, and all are recovering in spits and spurts. Peter has _finally_ toned down his music, though it remains ever present on the ship. In truth, Loki does not mind the tunes. He finds some rather enjoyable, in fact. However, does that mean he wants to hear them repeated constantly? 

He cannot hold back the snicker when Gamora all but threatens to murder Peter if they are forced to listen to another chorus of _Hooked on a Feeling_.

Drax had muttered to Loki, “He’ll only repeat _Come and Get Your Love_ instead.”

“Do you not enjoy that one?”

“My Hovat never danced.” Drax replies simply, as if that answers his question. “I first met her…”

A sense of normality has returned to the team, and now they were only a few hours away from Knowhere. While everyone else prepared to dock, Loki approached Peter on the bridge, datapad in hand.

“Peter?”

“Yeah?” Peter asks over his shoulder. He is in the pilot’s seat, navigating the busy skies. After so long in dark, open space it was strange to see large ships coming and going. “What’s up?”

“What can you tell me about this website?” Loki holds out the pad. Peter glances at it but does not take it, instead flashing Loki a smile.

“Do you not get it? I swear you’re just like Yondu. Took me and Kraglin months to get him to understand the new security systems we put in place.” Peter grabs the datapad. “He was such an old man about it. Or is this a dirty site?”

“It is not that I do not understand.” Loki corrects, his diplomatic ‘I’m offended but I will not say so’ expression falling over his face, especially agitated at the comparison to Yondu. “More, I wish to find out who created such a page.”

Peter scrolls through it, before blinking in confusion. “What language is this?”

“Excuse me?” Frowning, Loki takes back the pad. He blinks, stupefied. “O-Oh, these are runes…I did not realise…”

“Rocket must have changed them.” Peter takes it back and faffs a moment. “There we go. Yeah, the language setting had been altered.”

Loki…Had not even noticed. So preoccupied with caring for Peter, Drax, Gamora and Groot, it simply had not crossed his mind that he had suddenly been able to read the text of a datapad. It must have been Rocket who altered it, because Loki had read the webpage before the others recovered. In fact, now Loki spared the time to think the issue over in more detail, he had mentioned to Rocket that unless the text was runes he would be unable to read it.

Then he promptly had his breakdown in the middle of the kitchen. Something strange twists in Loki’s chest at the thought.

But that still did not explain…After the _events_ in the kitchen, they had both rushed to the crown, and then Rocket had locked himself away in the medical room. How had he switched the language?

Peter whistles, making Loki jump. “Jeez, who made this? It’s crap!”

“That aside,” He huffs, swallowing away the odd sensation rising in his throat, focusing in on the matter at hand, “I find it concerning.”

“Same, who spells ‘nebula’ like that?”

“Peter.” The chastising tone escapes before Loki can stop it, and for a brief moment the image of Thor drifts through his head. Loki pushes it away. “I _must_ find the person who made this; it’s a matter of Asgardian security.”

“I thought you weren’t gonna go back to Asgard?” Peter frowns at him. “I get that you were a Prince and all but-”

“If it affects Asgard, then it affects Midgard too.” Loki cuts off, watching Peter’s features become more serious at the mention of his home planet. “This information, all these images,” He indicates to the datapad. “Should not be able to reach outer space, we are closed off. Whoever is leaking this information is acting against Asgardian rule.”

“Right. Right, ok.” Peter looks once more at the datapad, but this time with a more determined gaze. Loki’s fingers find themselves tangled together. “This is a Kiloger website.” He states after some thought.

“A Kiloger website?”

“Yeah. Basically it means only people with certain programs can get to it.” Peter taps onto the page on the royal family. “The Nova can’t hack into it, or any other policing. We use it to find jobs, which is why you accessed it on this pad. Haha, nice horns by the way.”

“Thank you.” Loki replies absently, mind mulling over this new information. “So the people creating this page, they are aiming it at people working outside the law?”

“Yep.”

“That is…Disturbing.” Loki’s nails scratch over the grooves of his knuckles. 

On Asgard, there was a certain law forbidding the consumption of alcohol for teenagers and children. That had been the rule since before the time of Bor. However, Asgard is also a warrior society, with feasting and drinking parties thoroughly soaked into their culture. From the moment Loki had been able to walk he had been joining these activities, firstly on his Mother’s lap and then in his seat at Thor’s side. Even those of the lowest of statuses knew these rituals, and performed them with whatever rations they owned.

Because of this, it was near impossible to consistently and affectively regulate alcohol consumption in teenagers. It was actually a large problem which desperately required solution. At first they had tried to regulate who was selling alcohol, but with so many dens and breweries that attempt had very quickly fallen apart. Next they tried education, putting programs into schooling on the dangers and risks of drinking, but by the time children attended school their culture was already so ingrained that it had minimal impact. Just before the Odin Sleep and Loki’s fall, they were still seeking a remedy to such an issue, and had been arranging another council meeting on the matter.

The point is, when people are told not to do something they are used to seeing, they very often do exactly that.

This webpage was advertising to thieves, crooks, and anyone else happy to work outside the law. This was actively being hidden from the authorities, who were very clearly and openly stating not to enter Asgardian territories. 

There were pictures of golden halls and gleaming armour, of rich personal adornment and wealthy families. This website was signalling to anyone and everyone in space that there are gems ready and waiting to be snuck under the noses of snobby elites, like their newly acquired Ilonian Crown.

And this webpage gave them everything they needed to know on the security, guardsmen in the royal palace, currencies, and all other matters related to blending in. 

“Hey, hey.” Peter suddenly says, making Loki startle as he reaches out and pulls Loki’s hands apart. Blinking, Loki gazes down to find his skin cracked and bleeding. “Enough of that.”

“I apologise.” Twisting his wrist out of Peter’s grasp, Loki allows himself to breathe. 

“Is it really that bad?”

“Yes.” Loki’s fingers twitch at his sides. “There…There must be a _reason_ for doing this. What purpose is there to encouraging people to come and steal from Asgard? Why aim it at thieves?”

“It’s not just thieves.” Peter nibbles at his lip, looking mighty uncomfortable. “Anyone outside the law can see these, and post here too. The Kree used to, especially when they were trying to destabilise a planet before invading. They’re in alliance with the Nova at the moment so they won’t, but I dunno. Warlords? Power-hungry rulers? There’s plenty of them running around the universe.”

“Invading…” Loki feels light headed. “Asgard is without the Bifrost and they are isolated from the Nine Realms. If someone wanted to invade, now would be the time. There is only the army, and the trinkets Odin keeps in the vaults. If someone had a big enough force, then…”

“Shit. And Earth will be affected too?”

“If Asgard falls…”A shudder darts through Loki’s spine, and he swallows it away. “Then Midgard will be extremely exposed.”

“Exposed to what?”

Loki shrugs. “From space? Anyone who decides to visit, good intentions or bad. From the Nine Realms?” His fingers itch to pick at his hands. Loki fists them, not meeting Peter’s gaze. “Without Asgardian control, there will be a power vacuum. Any parties who opposite Asgard will try and fill that void. Fighting will ensue, until someone is left a victor or there is no Nine left to rule. Midgard has always been viewed as a weaker Realm-”

“Hey!”

“So in all likelihood that will be the first to fall under invasion, or become the site of battlegrounds.”

Peter looks at him owlishly, taken aback and blinking between Loki and the datapad. 

“They have guns on Earth.” He says weakly. “And tanks.”

“And countries.” Loki interjects. “The other Realms are simply one. Midgard is split between different countries, different fractions. Can you honestly tell me that they would be able to swiftly form an alliance to counter attack from six advanced societies?”

Peter stutters. “I…I guess not. I hadn’t really…Wait, six?”

“Yes?”

“I thought there were Nine?”

“Excluding Midgard attacking itself, If Asgard falls there will be seven. I say six because,” Loki pauses to breathe. “Jotunheim is…I doubt it will be in a condition to invade.”

“Oh, you blew it up.” Peter blurts dumbly, and then blinks as if surprised by his own mouth. He clears his throat. “So, leaking all this stuff could lead to something really bad.”

“There is no could about it.” Loki’s thumb nail is scratching at his index finger, hard enough to make him wince. “This is bad, and could prove to be the destruction of the Nine Realms as it is known.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Tommy Wiseau voice* Oh hi plot I’ve been foreshadowing since the early chapters!


	40. Chapter 40

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Don't worry, you're just walking on brain matter

They arrive on Knowhere.

Loki has come to an agreement with Peter. They are to complete this mission with the crown first before discussing the matter with Asgard with the rest of the team. Loki dislikes leaving the subject, however it is not practical to converse such things when on a planet filled with lowlifes and eavesdropping ears. Once they have received their payment for the crown, they can return to the ship.

Unlike the other planets they have been on, this one is utterly disgusting in every sense of the word. It is not even a planet, but a giant severed _head_ floating in a green mist of space. Gamora tries to explain the history of it to him, but Loki struggles to listen as he stares, appalled, as they fly through the eye socket.

Maybe it is the Prince in him, maybe it is the high standards he has been brought up with, but surely there is nothing natural about walking around the insides of a huge skull in space. 

You do not just say, “Darling, I’m popping out to get some eggs from the large floating skull, want anything?”  
Loki has to physically fight the urge to vomit as the team leave the ship. They step onto soft earth, and he desperately tells himself that it is soil, not brain matter. 

He refuses to glance down to his feet, just in case.

“Our client is meeting us in a bar.” Peter states to the group. He was dawned his red leathers and carries a small bag containing the crown. Watching the team, Loki can see they are all keeping a sharp eye on Peter, making sure he does not get persuaded by the magic and reach to touch the object. “It’s this way, I think.”

“I’ll come in with you.” Gamora says casually. “Everyone else, wait outside.”

For all the trouble the crown has caused them, it is ultimately an anticlimactic end. The two disappear into a bar while Loki, Rocket, Drax, and Groot hover outside, and return within ten minutes.

“The units are transferring into everyone’s accounts right now.” Peter is tapping on his wristpad. Loki’s own device pings. “Princess, the transfer go ok?”

“So it would appear.” Indeed, his account has now gone from having nothing to what must be a large amount of units. “What do I owe you for clothes, weapons, and my wristpad?”

“Here,” Gamora moves next to him, “Let me help.”

“I also need to repay you for food.”

“Nah,” Peter waves a hand. “You helped us when we were sick, so don’t bother with that.”

Once Gamora has assisted Loki repay his debts (a strange sense of relief washes over him as the units arrive in the team’s accounts), they start to wander back to the ship. Loki is all too eager to return, more than ready to track down the creator of the website. He has to school himself, and slow down anxious steps to keep pace with the others, making a point to not pass Drax, who is a pace in front of him.

“We should get drinks.” Drax thinks aloud, pausing as he spots a venue. The keen expression on his face suggests he has visited this establishment before. “Celebrate the end of the mission. You are leaving us, aren’t you?” He asks Loki, but continues before Loki can respond, “We should get farewell drinks.”

“I am more than up for that!” Rocket exclaims quickly, spinning on his heel in a rapid change of directions and causing Groot to yelp and cling tightly to his jacket. “Come on, Princess! Let us show you what _real_ booze is!”

Gamora quickly follows Rocket and Drax, giving Loki an all-knowing smirk as she passes. “Good luck.”

Something sinks in Loki’s stomach, and he cannot help the glance in the direction of the ship. They longer they wait, the more unsavoury the parties they shall have to deal with. 

Peter slips an arm around his shoulder.

“Hey, c’mon, it won’t be for long.”

“We do not have time for this.” Loki hisses, but he is already being walked towards the bar. Peter gives a half-shrug.  
“I mean…We do normally get drinks after a mission. I don’t see the harm.”

“You _don’t_ -”

“Come on,” Peter interrupts, tone light and filled with persuasion. The man has had practice with this. “It will only be for a few hours. Asgard can hold off invasion until then, right?”

Loki feels his shoulders sag. “Not if Thor is leading the army.” He mutters.

“Heh.” Peter shoots Loki a perplexed expression. “I cannot tell if that is a joke or a threat.”

“Both.”

They find the four already with drinks and stood together in a small huddle, with Groot running around on the bar next to them. Rocket is stood on a stall, a dark blue bottle in hand. The place is busy, packed with drunken squabble that Loki allows Peter to lead them through. More than once he is forced to dodge a flying elbow. The smell of heavy alcohol and sweat lingers in the air.

A sense of familiarity rushes over Loki, and if he was to close his eyes it would be hard to tell if he was on Knowhere or a peasant’s pub on Asgard.

“Princess!” Rocket cheers and Loki feels himself stiffen at the nickname. On the ship in the privacy of the team is one thing, here, where muscle mass and weapons are clearly everything, is very much another.

Again, a lot like Asgard.

As Loki joins the group Rocket thrusts a brown bottle into his hands. “Got ya a drink!” Rocket may have been a little too eager as some of the liquid spills out onto Loki.

“Oh.” Loki blinks, trying not to scrunch his nose at his now wet hands. “And exactly how much poison is in this?”

Rocket gasps, putting a hand over his heart. “You wound me, can’t a guy just buy-”

“A few days ago you wanted me to jump out the airlock.” Loki raises an eyebrow. “Forgive me for being cautious.”

Rocket snorts. Gamora rolls her eyes. “It’s fine. Don’t worry, I watched him.”

“You would trust her word over mine?” Rocket’s eyes are wide, but there is a mischievous gleam to them. He does not sound as offended as his words suggest.

“Yes.”

Peter laughs, and Drax pats him on his back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next time I buy a carpet I'm requesting 'Knowhere Brain' for the colour


	41. Chapter 41

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which we learn that Yondu has an electronic bed. And some other stuff, but it's mainly the electronic bed.

There is a loud, sharp shout and before Loki can even turn his head a rowdy, violent brawl breaks out in the room. A chair is flung over their heads, but Loki is the only one to duck.

“Heh look at that, drinks and a show.” Rocket comments unhelpfully. Gamora hums, watching almost bored. Peter is not even paying attention, instead faffing around on his wristpad while Drax orders his second drink from a very unbothered bartender. Groot kicks Rocket’s bottle cap about.

Loki looks at them as if they have all sprouted second heads.

“Should we not be concerned?”

“Nah.” Rocket shrugs, peering around Loki and Peter to get a better look. “You stay outta their way, they’ll stay outta yours.”

“I see.” On Asgard, if you were to fight someone in a bar then you should be fully prepared to be thrown out by a very no-nonsense bartender, possibly even barred for a week. Then again, maybe that was because the Crowned Princes of Asgard were present. If Thor and Loki had been everyday citizens, then maybe fights were allowed to continue.

The disagreement is between three…Men? Two are male, at least, but the third is more beast than person, with thick red fur and large teeth. It walks on two legs, but is hunched enough that Loki would not be surprised if it starts running around on all fours.

He watches, and without thinking sips his drink. Strong, burning liquid catches his tongue and Loki damn near ends up spitting it across the bar, choking and spluttering. Rocket and Drax bursts into laughter.

“Ugh.” Loki swallows his mouthful, feeling it scorch his throat. “What _is_ this?”

Rocket, still snickering at Loki’s expense, holds up his own bottle. “ _Real_ alcohol!”

Peter raises an eyebrow. “You _have_ drunk before, right?” He glances at Groot and then back at Loki. “Would hate to think we’re giving the harsh stuff to a minor.”

“Didn’t Yondu give you drinks at fourteen?” Gamora asks, fingers fiddling with the rim of her bottle. Peter shrugs, and goes back to his wristpad.

“I am from a warrior and feasting society.” Loki croaks, clearing his throat, “I do know what alcohol is. And I am very much within age.”

“Sure, sure.” Rocket waves a hand. “That stuff ain’t even the strongest, anyway. Mr Muscle over here is having the tougher lot.”

“I do not know how you can stomach drinks so weak.” Drax shakes his head, and gives Loki a pitying expression as if he just told them some horrible childhood tale. “On my planet, you would be publically humiliated if you were seen drinking that.”

“Yeah, well everyone on your planet is made like tanks.” Rocket gulps another mouthful and then gestures to Loki. “Some of us are made like twigs.”

If it was not for the fact that Rocket has accidentally insulted himself in that sentence, Loki would feel mocked. Instead he allows himself to huff and roll his eyes good naturedly.

Drax narrows his gaze at Rocket, and Loki can physically see the gears turning. “Metaphor.” Drax states after a moment, seeming pleased with himself. “That is a metaphor.”

“Simile, actually.” Gamora says into her bottle.

The brawl rises in volume, drawing all their attention over to the fight. Most people in the bar have now backed up, making a clearing where the three wrestle. The furry animal has lost a tooth, and is holding its bleeding gums as it reels backwards from a punch. One of the men, his skin a sickening shade of orange, has a blaster in both hands, and is in the process of charging at the third. The third person, chalk white with black hair, lifts a sword and meets him half way, weapon coming down against the blasters as they both yell.

The sound of metal meeting metal is harsh on everyone’s ears, and finally it seems the bartender has had enough. The man marches across the room and throws a punch at both men’s heads, distracting them enough that he can then grab their ears. The furry creature backs away before wiggling into the crowd and out the bar.

There is a lot of shouting and cursing, enough that Gamora places her hands over Groot’s ears, and the two are dragged away. The white man lifts his sword as if to strike his captor, but after a harsh expression from the bartender thinks better of it.

Loki’s eyes lock onto the sword, and suddenly the entire world around him fades into nonsensical chatter. 

It is a long blade, slim and efficient, deadly in the right hands. This man is clearly unused to wielding such a weapon, for he controls is badly. The handle is black, and judging by the way it shines is either well-polished or a precious stone. A pattern of dark swirls encompass the blade like mist, spawning from the pommel and grip.

Loki grabs onto Peter’s arm, making him yelp.

“Dude! What the-”

“Peter, he has a blade from Nidavellir.”

“Bless you.” Rocket says.

“I have no idea what you are talking about.” Peter tries to twist out of Loki’s grip. “What’s-”

“The Nine Realms, that sword is from the Nine Realms.”

Instantly Peter stills, blinking at Loki before turning to try and see for himself. “You sure? Sometimes things look similar to other things. One time, I thought I had found a television remote from Earth, turned out to be the control to Yondu’s bed. I terrorised him for hours.”

Rocket splutters a laugh halfway through a drink. Drax pats his back.

“I’m sure. There is no way he should have that.” Loki abandons his drink on the bar. “We need to talk to him, he might be-”

“What’s going on?” Gamora cuts in, her head swivelling between them, “What’s wrong?”

Loki’s hands find themselves, fingers tugging at his skin. “He has a blade from Nidavellir.”

“As you have said.” Drax frowns. “What does that mean?”

“Nidavellir is part of the Nine Realms.” Loki keeps his gaze on the man, who is now sprawled on the floor outside the doorway. “And the Nine Realms is closed off to outer space.”

“Right.” Gamora prompts, clearly not following. “And?”

“There’s a Kiloger website,” Peter says, also watching the man, “Advertising pretty much everything about Asgard. Detailed stuff, like security and weaponry. Someone is leaking it to space from the inside.”

“Ok?”

“At the moment, Asgard is exposed and weak.” Loki continues. “And everyone in space is able to see that page. If the wrong people find it, then Asgard will undoubtedly fall. If Asgard goes, then so does Midgard.”

“So that guy having a sword might tell us who is doing this? Well then.” Gamora swigs down the last of her drink. “Let’s go ask him a few questions.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yondu spent six hours with a bed that spun, folded in on itself, and bounced for no apparent reason. Peter was grounded for two months.


	42. Chapter 42

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which we meet a beanpole

“Tell me why we care again?” Rocket asks, annoyed, still stood on the stool and leaning against the bar. He eyes Loki. “I thought you were gonna fuck off after this.”

“I was.” Loki says, blinking and suddenly glancing around the team. An unwelcome sense of apprehension wiggles in his stomach, but he forces it down. “I can still leave, if you want-”

“No, no dude you’re staying.” Peter cuts in. “This threatens Earth, which threatens me. That,” He pointedly looks at Rocket, “Is why we care.”

“Well, you do-”

“Rocket!”

“I’m just saying. What do we get outta this? It’s not like we’ll be _paid_.”

“It’s not _like we were paid_ for Xandar.” Gamora counters, crossing her arms. “But we still did that.”

“For exposing a threat,” Loki speaks up before Rocket has a chance to argue, his diplomat expression sliding over his face with practiced ease, calm and considering. Something heavy rests against his chest. “Asgard pays well. Yes, it will be in Asgardian currency,” He glances at Peter who smirks a touch, “But it will still be of value. Metals can be melted down, or you can sell the items on as artefacts to collectors. Asgardian objects will be rare in space, so with the right buyer you could make a lot. I am sure Odin would also be willing to listen to any negotiations for information. Simply telling him what we know now would be enough for bargain.”

“Is that a promise, Princess?” Rocket is watching Loki, scrutiny in his eyes. Loki struggles not to glance away, uncomfortable.

“Not exactly-”

“Ugh!”

“Odin has traded for information before.” He adds, and blames the alcohol for the dryness of his tongue. “I have never been present in those meetings, but he has.”

“Couldn’t you pay us?” Drax asks, “You are a Prince.”

_That_ was the last thing Loki wanted to discuss. “I…Do not know what status I currently hold on Asgard.” Loki says weakly, before clearing his throat and saying with more confidence, “I can promise you nothing. If I am allowed to retain my wealth, then yes I could pay you.”

“The guy’s leaving.” Peter pipes up, moving a few paces from the group. “If we wanna follow we need to go now.”

Gamora and Drax turn to Rocket, and Loki pointedly looks away. His fingers squeeze at his thumb.

“ _Fine!_ ” Rocket sighs. “Let’s go. C’mon Groot.”

“I am Groot!”

Peter is off like a shot, Loki close on his heels. The man has gathered himself up and is now staggering away down the crowded street, sword sheathed on his back. The way he stumbles into passing people is a clear sign of intoxication, though he appears to have lost some confidence after the brawl.

It is becoming dark, if there is such thing as day and night on a floating severed head (Loki _refuses_ to get over that, because it is just too bizarre to ignore). Neon lights are flicked on overhead, and the music becomes thick, loud enough that one can almost feel the air vibrating with each thump. The crowds slowly filter into the shady establishments lining the streets. 

A shrill whistle causes Peter to jump.

Someone bursts out into a rough laugh, drawing their attention to a man leaning against a grimy-looking wall, and Peter bristles as they lock eyes.

“Heya, Pete.”

“Kraglin!” Peter hisses, glancing between the man and their target. “Not now!”

Kraglin. Peter has mentioned a ‘Kraglin’ before, after Loki became unwell from teleporting. He had talked nostalgically, wistfully remembering the trouble they got into for drawing on people’s faces.

Approaching them, Kraglin raises a brow and follows their gaze. Briefly, Loki runs his eyes over the man. He is tall, just a little more than Peter and Loki, but not as high as Drax and lacking in muscle. The type of body that says he is used to crawling in tight spaces, and for all Loki knows he may be a species designed for such activities. He is wearing a set of leather overalls of all things, dyed a familiar shade of red. 

A blaster is strapped to one hip (though Loki doubts it is his only weapon) and his hair has been shaved and greased into a strange spike which crests over his skull. As Kraglin head turns, Loki catches a glimpse of tattoos on the side of his neck.

“Why you followin’ Harper?” Kraglin speaks through his teeth, accent thick and common.

“Harper?” Peter frowns, his shoulders losing some tension. 

Gamora steps forward. “Do you know him?”

“He’s one of the new recruits.” Kraglin shrugs, taking each of them in. His eyes settle on Loki. “Aren’t ya that guy who messed with the Captain’s arrow?”

Loki allows his diplomatic face to slip back on. “I do not believe we have been introduced.”

“Loki, right? Pete mentioned you when he and Captain had their talk.”

“Is that what you call it?” Rocket mutters, making Drax huff. Groot is trying to sneak a vine into Rocket’s pocket for a treat. 

Loki holds out a hand. “Kraglin, is it? Yes, I do apologise for that.”

Kraglin regards the hand as if it had somehow wronged him, but eventually takes it. “Yeah, well, I thought it was a smite funny. Don’t,” Kraglin spins on his heel and thrusts a finger in Peter’s face, “Tell ‘im I said that.”

Peter makes an x across his heart, his lips twitching into a smirk, and Kraglin snorts.

“This Harper,” Gamora cuts in before the conversation descends further off topic. “What can you tell us about him?”

“What do you wanna know?”

“He is carrying a weapon he should not possess.” Loki explains, “We need to know how he came to own it.”

Kraglin’s face turns serious. “It dangerous?”

“That…Would depend on who made it.”

“I thought it was just a sword?” Drax comments, “Do swords have power?”

“Some do.” To try and save his hands from needless scratches, Loki runs his nails over the grooves of his wristpad. “It is not unknown for them to be cursed or to have magic. As I said, it depends on its origin.” 

“Well, I can tell ya he’s heading back to the ship.” Kraglin rests his hands on his belt, leaning back on one leg. “And as he’s crew, he falls under our watch.”

“Kraglin-” Peter starts, frustrated, but Kraglin holds up a hand. 

“ _But_ if he has a weapon which could cause harm, then we oughtta know.” He glances at Loki. “And if you know about that stuff, then ya might as well be there.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi Kraggles, haven't wrote you in a while!


	43. Chapter 43

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Papa smurf is back, baby!

The Ravager ship, The Eclector, is very much a mirror of her crew. Or her crew have subconsciously mirrored their ship, it is hard to tell. Either way, both are grubby, slightly broken, and ready to take on foes thrice their size.

Each corridor is full on odds and ends, small passages and maze-like hallways. There is a deep-rooted grime coating most things, and almost all equipment has been patched and replaced during its lifetime, creating a strange mixture of old technology with new parts. 

Following Kraglin, they pass other members of the clan, all watching them with a narrowed gaze. The rusty red colour can be seen on all leathers, and for the first time Loki realises that is the trademark of the group. 

While their presence is met with a curious distaste, everyone parts as Kraglin walks, much like servants for the Allfather. Despite his scrawny statue, there is an unsaid respect for Kraglin. He certainly moves with purpose, and barely blinks an eye at the crew. Maybe he has more power than it would appear.

Kraglin takes them up a flight of metal stairs, and they enter what must be the bridge. Groups of people mill around; huddling around datapads and fixing machines. By a large window, Yondu stands with his hands behind his back, observing the chaos of Knowhere outside. 

_He is blue. His eyes are red._

The sudden, intrusive thought takes Loki by surprise. In his haste to solve the mystery surrounding this leaking information, he had forgotten that there was a chance he might react badly to the appearance of the Captain.

_He is blue. His eyes are red._

_He is blue. His eyes are red._

“Princess?” Rocket nudges Loki’s leg.

Breathe in through the nose, out through the mouth.

Thank the Norns he is at the back of the group.

Loki offers a stiff smile at Rocket, and allows his fingers to scrape together painfully.

“Captain?” Kraglin calls, prompting Yondu to turn. Kraglin makes a pounding gesture on his chest. “Bumped in Pete and his gang. They say one of the new recruits could be dangerous.”

Yondu meanders over, waving his hand dismissively at the other crew who are quick to leave.

Breathe in, breathe out.  


Swallowing away the taste of bile, Loki pulls on the familiar mask of diplomacy. He has been in worse situations. The little mission to Jotunheim after Loki’s rise to Kingship comes to mind, the horrific sense of being towered over by monsters, nothing but his words to use as weapons. On Asgard, it was easy to forget he was a runt. No so much among his own kind. 

Yondu’s eyes lock onto him

“You!”

“Good evening.”

A shriek whistle sends the strange arrow straight at Loki’s face. Years of Thor threatening to use Mjolnir on him in jest keep him from flinching.

“Gimme _one_ reason why I shouldn’t run ya through.” Yondu jabs a dirty finger at Loki, which is pointless seeing as his weapon is barely a hairs width away from his eye.

“Yondu…” Peter inches towards them. 

Loki smiles pleasantly. “I know about the sword.”

“Wha’ sword?”

“The one which could potentially blow up half the ship while you are in deep space.” Loki flashes his teeth, holding out his hands. “And I assume you do not want that.”

Peter gulps at him. “It can do that?”

“The Dwarfs get very creative, sometimes.” 

Rocket snorts.

“Captain.” Kraglin steps in. “I met them in downtown. They were followin’ Harper.”

“The Frikian?”

“Yeah.”  


Yondu narrows his eyes at Loki, mulling this over. “And _you_ say he has a dangerous sword?”

“I do.”

Groot has decided to climb from Rocket’s shoulder to Loki’s back, he can feel the plant grabbing onto bits of leather to pull himself up to sit by Loki’s jaw. Normally Loki might be annoyed at having the child hanging off him during an important moment; however upon noticing Yondu’s gaze lose some of their deadly intend at the site of Groot, Loki allows him to settle. 

“Get him up here.” Yondu commands Kraglin, who nods and flicks on a wristpad. The arrow retreats into its holster on Yondu’s belt, but remains very much on display. Loki lowers his hands, and nods his head at Yondu in a polite gesture. Yondu rolls his eyes and turns to Peter.

“I thought you were dumpin’ him after the crown?”

Peter shrugs. “That was the initial plan, but stuff came up.”

“Uh-huh.” Yondu looks unconvinced. “You ain’t givin’ me _details_ , boy. Which means this is worth a lot.”

“It’s not.” Gamora says before Peter can reply. “This is more of a Xandar situation.”

“Thanos?”

“No.” Gamora does not flinch at the name of her former guardian and keeps her voice steady, though Loki spies the way her fingers twitch. “But still important.”

“Sentiment.” Yondu runs a hand over his face, grumbling. “Fuckin’ _sentiment_.”

The door behind them opens, and a now rather sober looking Harper walks into the room. His feet stumble as he realises eight pairs of eyes are all on him.

“Captain?” He asks, straightening up. “What’s-”

“Come in.” Yondu commands with a wave, and Kraglin moves to stand at the door like a well-trained guard dog that no longer needs commands to know what to do. 

The teams parts to allow Harper to stand in front of Yondu, shifting from foot to foot with unease. 

“Captain, if it’s about the brawl-”

“It ain’t about no brawl.” Yondu cuts off gruffly, crossing his arms. “Accordin’ to Quill, you’ve got somethin’ you shouldn’t.”

“Something I…I ain’t a thief, Captain!”

A small back-and-fourth starts up between the two, and Loki tunes it out in favour of running a critical eye over the sword strapped to Harper’s back. Now he is closer, he can make out many small details etched into the blade. 

The dark twists which run up the weapon are accompanied by thin grooves of deep emerald green. It shimmers, and at first Loki wonders if the light is catching an embedded gemstone, however that would surely weaken the blade and Harper has already proven that it is anything but. 

“Give it here.” Yondu holds out his hand. Harper backs up.

“No, Captain, I-”

“Captain gave ya an order.” Kraglin calls from the door, tone light but hinting. “Ya wouldn’t be disobeyin’ the Captain, Harper, now would ya?”

Harper swallows, and glances at everyone. Peter stands a few paces behind Yondu, a hand resting on his blaster. Gamora is directly behind Harper, arms crossed and stance ready. Rocket has clambered onto a table, watching with interest, and Drax has moved to stand beside Loki.

“No… No I ain’t disobeying.”

He removes the sword from his back, and holds the pummel out for Yondu.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Writing Yondu's voice ain't fun, let me tell ya


	44. Chapter 44

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which everyone stares at a sword for ten minutes.

Yondu examines the sword, and then raises an eyebrow at Loki.

“Don’t look like nothin’ dangerous.”

“Please, let me examine it.” 

As Loki takes the weapon into his hand, Harper catches sight of Loki and jumps, as if properly seeing him for the first time. He stumbles back a little, but then flinches when he realises how close he now is to Gamora.

“You’re…You’re _Loki_ …”

“You know me?” Loki cocks his head at Harper. “Well that _is_ interesting.”

Drawing his attention away from the man, Loki turns to blade over in his hands. The pummel is smooth and black, a material that Loki cannot place, and under his touch it very faintly sings in a way reminiscent of Mjolnir. Magic is deeply embedded within the weapon; he can feel it following beneath the touch of his fingers.

Something about it, as dark as it is, is vaguely familiar.

Placing magic within an item is no easy feat. It requires the transformation of energy, a trick that only truly skilled mages can accomplish. Loki’s magic feeds from his energy, requiring fuel to function, and if he wished to enchant something then he would need an object powerful enough to sustain that energy. If he did not, the item would only remain powerful for a short amount of time before depleting. The magic here is very clearly self-sustaining. 

Loki turns his gaze to the blade itself.

It is finely crafted, the metal and the magic bonded beautifully together like intertwined vines. The blade is completely straight, and has been sharpened to a state of near perfection. 

“Well?” Yondu prompts, looking bored.

Loki glances up. “I can tell you that it _is_ craftsmanship of the Dwarfs.” 

Peter goes wide eyed and backs up. “Shit!”

“But…” Loki frowns, running a finger along the embedded emerald green. “It has been modified. This is an ancient weapon; that much is clear. This pummel?” He holds it out for them to see. “Is an older type no longer used on Asgard.”

“So it’s Asgardian?” Gamora asks, hands on her hips. “Do Dwarfs make Asgardian weapon?”

Loki shakes his head. “Not usually. The only exceptions are royal items. The Dwarfs charge highly for their goods, and use incredibly powerful sorcery in their metalwork. Mjolnir was forged from the heart of a dying star, and can only be held by those deemed worthy.”

“A weapon with a conscience.” Rocket scoffs. “Sure, why not?”

“Is it dangerous?” Peter pipes up, and it does not escape Loki’s notice that he has backed away a few paces.

“All royal weapons are dangerous.” The magic hums under the blades surface, gentle and present.

Gamora rolls her eyes at Peter’s antics. “And this one?”

“It is hard to tell.” As Loki’s grip on the sword shifts so too does the magic. It is like prey following the eyes of a hypnotising serpent. On the outside the snake is calm, gentle, encouraging, but inside muscle and tendons and fangs are ready to snap. “All magic can be deadly, and without knowing who or what wielded this I cannot deduce intent.”

“Can’t you…” Rocket makes a mad finger-flicking motion, making Drax cough down a laugh. “And see?”

Loki mulls it over. “I could…Sometimes objects can hold memories, though it is rare. A blade as old and powerful as this might contain memories of a previous owner.”

“Then do it.” Yondu commands roughly, “If Harper here brough’ some weapon strong enough to blow up the ship then I wanna know exactly how much to punish him.”

Harper pales and Groot slides off Loki to go scuttling across the room towards Rocket.

“We can’t leave something like that wandering around the galaxy.” Gamora adds. “If we can get an idea of how powerful it is, then we might be able to destroy it.”

“Or give it to someone who can hide it.” Peter thinks aloud. “Xandar…Or the Collector…”

Hesitantly, Loki nods. “You may want to move back a bit, I do not know how it will react.”

“It won’t blow up, will it?” Kraglin calls from the door. “Just sayin’.”

“No, if it tries I should be able to contain it.”

“Should?” Peter gulps.

Loki ignores him in favour of calling fourth his magic, encouraging it trail down his arm and into his fingers. Carefully, he allows a little to touch the surface of the blade-

Black, sharp and suffocating, engulfs Loki’s body. 

The black is thick, like dense fog, swirling viciously around Loki as if a flock of started birds. Someone shouts something, and the very distinct noise of a whistle catches Loki’s attention, but he tunes it out and instead casts out his magic, reaching to contain the storm. 

In the Palace library, there was a book on Midgardian weather. On Asgard the occasional thunder storm (natural, not Thor’s) was the most violent their weather and geology ever became. Midgard, however, saw no end of volcanic eruptions, earthquakes, and tsunamis, all more deadly than the last. 

If Loki ever wanted to know what it would be like to be within a Midgardian tornado, then this was probably the closest he would ever get.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Auntie Em! Auntie Em! It's a twister, a twister!


	45. Chapter 45

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A chapter which allows the author to update the tags

“Oh…” A voice, smooth and feminine, echoes within Loki’s mind. “Aren’t you a beauty?”

He still stands in the middle of the vortex of black, his magic reaching out to contain it, to keep it from destroying the ship. A strange, outer-body sensation lifts at his core, forcing the air from his lungs as sensations attack his brain; powerful, female hands turning the blade over, the warmth of a fire, the sensation of being swung.

Memories of the blade, Loki realises, a conversation held in the presence of the weapon.

“A one-day Queen requires a weapon like no other.” Is the reply, and Loki feels his skin turns to ice, joints stiffening. Breathe does not come to him. “This will do you well.”

“She’s magnificent.” The woman admires. “Yes, I shall slay many Giants with this.”

“As you should.” 

There is shouting from outside the swirl, high and panicked, but Loki pays it little attention. Everything, every sense, every ounce of mind power, is latching onto that second voice. The voice he knows so well. The voice that told him stories as a child and commanded silence at council meetings, the voice that stammered as Loki bled out his heart in the vault. 

( _“No, Loki.”_ )

Odin Allfather had commissioned this blade, for a ‘one-day Queen’. There is no doubt in Loki’s mind that this is not Frigga. He has heard her voice for too many years to know it cannot be her. No, this is someone else, someone willing to axe down Frost giants ( _“I’ll hunt the monsters down and slay them all!”_ ), someone eager for blood and gore and the chaos of battle.

‘A one-day Queen’, that can only suggest-

“Loki!” A hand latches onto his wrist and with a sudden jolt all magic disintegrates into the air, leaving Loki blinking and stumbling against Drax. The hand moves to his shoulder, steadying him as he slowly drops down to his knees, breathing hard.

“What the fuck was that?” A voice shouts, rough and panicked, and it takes a moment for Loki to realise it was Yondu. People are yelling, but it is muffled and coming from the other side of the door. The angered voices settle as the scratchy, heavily-accented command of Kraglin demands attention.

The room is a mess, machinery, tables, and chairs have been smacked against the walls. Bits of paper float about, and everyone is panting, hard. Peter is now beside Rocket, a blaster in hand and hair a mess. No longer on the table, Rocket is patting down Groot in search for injuries, much to the plant’s dismay. Gamora is crouched, running critical eyes over Loki.

Yondu is staring at him from across the room, making no effort to hide the fact.

“The _fuck_ are you?”

Loki blinks at him, not comprehending. “What-” He cuts himself off to clear his throat, and tries again. “What do you mean?”

“You’re blue, Princess.” Rocket supplies in a tone far softer then Loki was expecting. With a thick swallow, Loki very slowly glances down to his hand, staring uncomprehendingly as he takes in the black nails, the deep runes, and the icy blue skin.

“O-Oh.” Forming a fist, Loki quietly calls for his magic, letting it smooth over his body and chase away the damned colour. “I apologise.”

“What _are_ you? Don’t make me ask again.” Yondu repeats, his face uneasy, as if ready to spring away from a dangerous creature. “Ain’t no Centaurian.” 

“No, I am not.” Words feel heavy on his tongue as he hefts himself back onto his feet, and Loki cannot quite bring himself to meet Yondu’s gaze. When the question once again goes unanswered, Yondu lets out a frustrated growl.

“Come on,” Peter makes a peaceful gesture between the two. “Let’s just chill for a sec-”

“Chill? He damn near blew up my ship!”

“Your ship would have been perfectly fine.” Loki argues, flexing the fingers of the hand not holding to sword. “I had it under control.” 

Yondu fists his hands against his hips, leathers drawn back to display the arrow. “Uh-huh. Want to tell us what the fuck happened?”

“Just how powerful is the sword?” Gamora adds. “I have never seen anything like it.”

“Powerful,” Loki turns the blade over, throat dry, “Dangerously powerful. This is a royal weapon, infused with the power of the Allfather but altered in the hands of-” His words stumble oddly in his mouth, and Loki once again clears his throat before continuing. “I think what you saw was a defence mechanism. Most royal weapons have them. As I said, Mjolnir cannot be held unless you are worthy, which means often only Thor can wield it.” The magic continues to sing under his touch, but Loki pushes it away. “Gungnir will only channel the ruler’s magic, for anyone else it is merely a staff.”

“And the crown.” Rocket thinks aloud. “That had magic protecting it too.”

“Gun…Mew…” Yondu splutters, glancing between them “What?”

Loki ignores him, feeling the shakiness from the revelations melt away into anger. “This has enough magic to cut down Giants with little effort.” His eyes lock onto the figure half-hidden behind an upturned table.

From the corner of his eyes Loki spots Yondu do the same, which is the only thing that stops him from flinching when a shriek whistle pierces the air. The arrow zaps across the room and whizzes behind the furniture, making Harper yelp and stumble to his feet in haste.

“How did you get this?” Loki demands, voice turning hard as he steps closer to the man.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> @the people who called out it was Hela’s sword – EXCUSE ME?? I’m trying to be DRAMATIC HERE?? Some people…


	46. Chapter 46

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A chapter in which things go really, really well.

“This is a royal weapon, far too enhanced for the likes of you.” Loki continues, his eyes narrowed at the snivelling man. “This is also ancient, a relic thousands of years old. How did you acquire such a weapon?”

Harper swallows, gaze shifting rapidly between the sword, Loki, and Yondu. Loki hears Gamora and Peter shift to stand behind him. 

When he receives no answer, Loki allows a threatening grin to tug at his lips. “You know, there are ways to go into the mind, to tug out the answers needed. From what I hear, it is a rather painful process. I ask again, where did you get this weapon?”

“Better answer.” Yondu joins, his voice light and sing-song, deceptively calm. “I ain’t a patient man.”

Harper visibly swallows again, eyes darting to the door and then back. “I…”

“Stop being such a coward.” Drax comments dully somewhere behind Loki, “We missed out on drinks for this.”

“I didn’t…” Harper tries again. “I didn’t know it could do that.”

Loki huffs. “Undoubtedly. Only a magic user could trigger the blade. Now answer the question.”

“I found it.” Harper says weakly, not meeting anyone’s eyes. “In a cave. It was really deep in; I thought it was just a sword-”

“Where?” Loki interrupts before Harper can spiral into a panic and become useless. “Where was this cave? Why were you in there?”

Harper flinches, all of the earlier bravado from the bar vanished. “I was hiding; I didn’t want to…It was just sat there, on a rock.”

“ _Where?_ ” Yondu growls, the arrow floating towards Harper. “For fuck’s sake!”

“Svartalfheim!” Harper yelps, backing away from the arrow. “It was on Svartalfheim!”

“Svartalfheim?” Loki’s face twists, confused and distressed. “This blade was on _Svartalfheim?_ ” 

Peter darts into Loki’s line of sight. “Is that bad? Is that-”

“It is in the Nine Realms, yes.” Loki does not meet Peter’s gaze, instead staring intently at Harper, who continues to wilt pathetically. “How?”

“I-”

“You have one last chance to answer truthfully.” Loki cuts off, his tone low, dark, powerful, and causing Peter to flinch away from him with wide eyes. Within, Loki can feel his magic fizzing, tugging at him from beneath the skin. “Svartalfheim is an isolated, barren, worthless realm inhabited by some very deadly and incredibly high-strung people. They do not take kindly to outsiders. You said you were hiding, so you must have been hiding from _them_.”

Harper is shrinking from his gaze, but seems unable to look away, staring right back at Loki. “I…Yes, I was hiding from them.”

“Them?” Yondu asks, moving a step closer to Harper, who just nods mutely, eyes still locked with Loki.

“Why?” Loki demands. “Why were you there?”

“The Kiloger website. It…Asgard seemed like an easy target. I thought I could just sneak in, do some petty crime, y’know?” Harper glances at Yondu and back. “But when I put in the co-ordinates and did a jump, I ended up on Svartalfheim, I don’t know how!”

“Can people do that?” Rocket pipes up from the side. Loki hears Gamora shift.

“I’m not sure, _technically_ speaking, no.” She huffs. “But this is monsters and magic, who knows what it can do?”

“What happened after that?” Loki demands, taking another step towards Harper who shies away, “What made you run to the cave?”

“My ship crashed, and when I climbed out of the wreckage I…” Harper trails off.

The arrow drifts closer. “You?” Yondu prompts.

“I…There…”

The air shifts, as if someone had cracked a whip right in Loki’s face. It is enough to make him gasp, to cause his tongue to stumble over words as he lunges for Peter’s arm to yank him back, away from the sudden white hot _magic_ that busts into life.

“Get back!”

Harper screams, loud and terrified and hoarse, as a bright, blinding light engulfs his body. He struggles, moving wildly against the unseen force, scratching at his body and sagging to the floor. Peter is staring, mouth agape, transfixed despite Loki’s attempt to tug him away.

The light builds in intensity, magic snapping and popping like lighting in the air. Harper’s cries of pain are drowned out by a sucking, whistling noise.

Kraglin and Yondu are by the door, shouting at them to leave. 

“Peter, move!” With one final tug Loki flings them out the room, both collapsing to the ground as, with a deafening clap, the magic explodes. The metal walls around them rattle as if they were within the centre of a roll of thunder, and Loki squeezes his eyes shut to save his eyes from the overwhelming light. 

And, just like that, Harper is erased from existence.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So...That happened.


	47. Chapter 47

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Drumroll please...

“Captain?” A voice breaks the stunned silence. “Captain?”

“I’m here.” Yondu replies, “Quit yappin’ I’m here.”

“Everyone alright?” Gamora asks, and carefully Loki cracks open his eyes. They are all sprawled haphazardly on the floor, a mess of arms and legs. Peter is flat on his back beside him, and hastily Loki climbs to his knees to hover over Peter’s head.

“Peter?”

“Holy shit, dude!” Peter breathes at him, a little pale. He has a scratch running along the side of his head, slightly bruised and suspiciously shaped like the edge of the doorway, but his eyes are focused, if only a little wide. “What happened?”

“I…” Loki glances through the open door and into the room. On the metal wall and floor is a large dark patch. It is flaky, almost appearing like soot. Or ash. “A defence mechanism, I think. A curse to stop whatever Harper was going to say. Probably a demonstration of power, as well.”

“Jesus…” Peter sits up, putting his hand to his head. “That was…”

“Violent.” Kraglin finishes, “ _Fuck_ if that happened in _space_ …”

Gamora fixes Loki with a pointed look. “Whoever is doing this wants it kept secret. They advertise Asgardian information, draw people in, and then keep them from spilling.”

“So it would appear.” Loki stands, sword in one hand and the other raised to feel the air. There is an aftermath of magic lingering, hovering like dust. It moves against his touch. 

“Could it be the same people who made the sword?” Drax asks, looking completely fine. 

Loki shakes his head firmly. “No. This is very different. Harper found the blade on Svartalfheim, which would suggest that this magic is…”

He trails off, moving further into the room. Magic sings against his bare hand, drawn to his touch but foreign, resisting from mixing with his own sorcery. There is something familiar to it, something that makes Loki’s bones ache and his thoughts muddle, that fling him back to the mission for the crown and the horrifically deep-rooted exhaustion that followed. His chest squeezes, and his magic quivers as if afraid.

He is right when he says this is unrelated to the sword, because it very much _is_. Loki grew up surrounded by royal magic; his mother had been a very diligent teacher and had taught him almost everything there is to know on the subject. The magic in the air is utterly different, dark and manipulative yet weirdly judging of those who touched it. If magic reflected its owner, then…

“Oh…” Loki’s eyes lighten in understanding, and then darken. “Oh, I see now…”

“See what?” Yondu demands, and then, quieter, as he turns to someone, “What’s he doin’?”

“I dunno. Do I look like I know?” Rocket shrugs. “Something magic? Probably?”

Loki, hand still held up, twists to face the group in the doorway. His eyes dart from one person to the next. “Do you remember, at the end of the mission when my body and mind became separated? When I went unresponsive?”

“Your mind and body _what?_ ” Kraglin blanks, glancing to the rest of the team as if he would get more sense out of them. He goes ignored. 

“Yeah,” Rocket nods, Groot on his shoulder and gaze thoughtful. “What about it?”

“I found that foreign magic, and used it to bring myself back.”

Gamora puts her head to one side. “I remember, you ‘borrowed’ it, right? Don’t tell me you’ve got on the wrong side of someone because of it.”

“No, this is not like that. “ Loki runs his thumb nail over the pommel of the sword. “There is magic here, the _same magic_ as then. I can feel it lingering in the air.” Loki swallows, gaze moving to the scorch marks where Harper once stood. “Before…I had thought the magic had felt familiar, but could not place where. Asgard rarely goes to Svartalfheim, the peace treaty is fragile at best, so I am only vaguely aware of their workings.”

“The ‘them’ Harper was on about.” Peter thinks aloud. “Who live on Sv…Svar…Who live there?”

“The Dark Elves.” Loki replies, his voice grim and thoughts moving too fast to catch, “This is the work of the Dark Elves.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tada~! There have been some good guesses: Frigga, Asgard, Hela, Ego, but it turns out to have been the Dark Elves all along! Yay! (Or, well, yay for us. Not so much for Loki.)


	48. Chapter 48

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A songfic? In 2018? It's more likely than you think!

_“Come a little bit closer, you’re my kind of man._

_So big and so strong._

_Come a little bit closer. I’m all alone._

_And the night is so long.”_

“Is this not Peter’s music?” Loki asks as he follows Kraglin down a set of steps. “It seems familiar.”

“Yeah. When Pete first went off on his own, the crew began to complain that he’d took his music with him.” Kraglin shrugs, sticking his hands in his pockets. “So we ended up making copies.”

“Although I will not pretend that it is my taste, I can certainly see the appeal.”

“Eh, it’s somethin’ to listen to, I guess.” 

The conversation quietens, giving Loki peace enough to run over his chaotic thoughts.

It had not been long after his little revelation for some of the higher ranking Ravager members to appear in the doorway, wanting answers as to why their ship had been rattled like the end of a serpent’s tail, glancing wide-eyed at the state of the bridge. 

Apparently, Yondu’s eloquent “Harper blew up” was an unsatisfactory answer, and the blue skinned, red eyed man had quickly been whisked away to address the rest of the crew and settle the confusion. 

Ah, that most likely explained the sudden appearance of the music, then; something to distract and relax the Eclector’s workers, to assure that everything was ok and to go about business as usual.

_“So I dropped my drink from my hand._

_And through the window I ran._

_And as I rode away I could hear her say to Jose…”_

“So, just how dangerous is all this shit anyway?” Kraglin pipes up as they near a door, reaching up to tap in a key code. “I ain’t gonna pretend that I know squat about dark elves and magic and whatever, but if Pete is gonna be involved, then-”

“Are you concerned?” Loki raises a brow, noting mildly that the tapped numbers are thirty-eight, sixty-two. “While I shall admit Peter has his moments, he seems more than capable of looking after himself.”

“Yeah, when he’s _only_ lookin’ after himself.” They move forward into the room, Kraglin flicking on a set of harsh, stark lights overhead. 

The space is a storage area, but unlike their own this is not filled with supplies and goods, but rather weaponry parts, leather holsters, and the general accessories needed for such dangerous tools. Most of the gadgets are unrecognisable to Loki’s eye, and quietly he decides he would rather not meet the items they are intended for. Ravagers pirate almost all of space, who knows what they pick up. 

Kraglin leans against the doorframe, crossing his arms in a manner that is intended to appear casual, but the way his eyes dart around the room expose his true emotions.

“All I’m sayin’ is, since he’s been with that girl, that crew, he’s gone softer. He’s more willin’ to expose himself to the enemy if need be, ‘specially with that tree.”

Loki regards him a moment. 

Age is something he has not really bothered himself with during his time in space, mostly due to the sheer lack of time to fully sit down and analyse all the comings and goings of the universe around him. Loki is also of the suspicion that what he would class as an adult, a teenager, and so on would be wildly inaccurate here, as he simply does not know or understand the species he is confronting.

Still, if he _was_ to try and judge, he might pin Kraglin as only a short time older than Peter. The hinted greying in his spiked hair appears less natural aging and more stress than anything else, and the way he and Peter interact speaks of years of shared experiences and understanding.

“You must care for him a lot.” Loki says plainly.

Kraglin bristles. “If he goes an’ gets himself killed it’s _me_ who has ta deal with the Captain!”

Loki hums and nods, acting as if there was any chance in the Nine that he would fall for such a blatant lie. “Of course. Now, the sheaths?”

“Second shelf on the left, tha’ big blue box.” As an afterthought, he adds, “Take whichever you want.”

The tune on the overhead speakers comes to a halt, before the scratchy beginning of the next song starts up.

_“If you ever change your mind._

_About leaving, leaving me behind._

_Baby, bring it to me, bring your sweet lovin’._

_Bring it all home to me.”_

Having retrieved the box, Loki digs through the variety of leather sheaths. It is an odd collection undoubtedly sourced from all reaches of the cosmos; some are highly decorated, others are simple but made with material Loki cannot hope to name. Many are too short to be of any use, and multiple times he has to hold up the sheath to the sword, judging lengths and widths. 

It takes a while, but eventually Loki stumbles upon a dyed red item, made from smooth leather that has an almost scaly texture to it. Someone has taken great time and care to sew a strange, white-dappled pattern across the surface to create the image of a great beast.

“Well?” Kraglin asks.

“Yes, this one will do.” Slotting the sword easily into the sheath, Loki throws it over his back and fastens the buckle across his chest.

“Normally I’d make ya pay.” Kralgin looks over the sheath, and then glances at him with a mischievous smile tugging at his lips. “But seein’ as you’re currently Pete’s crew, I think it only fair that we make _your_ dear captain foot the bill.”

Loki returns the expression. “How generous.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Right, everyone caught their breath from all the action and drama? Good, now take a big gulp because we’re diving straight back in!


	49. Chapter 49

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A plan is hatched, unfortunately for Peter.

Loki barely makes it one foot into the room before Gamora is fixing him with a stern gaze, crossing her arms and stating, “We need a plan.”

He pauses, blinking at her and then at the others. The magic of the Dark Elves still hovers heavily in the room as if a fog. Loki can feel it caressing his skin, drawn to him and his ability like magnets, and he highly doubts the others can hear the slight crackle it produces. 

On their return journey Kraglin had been called to assist Yondu with the crew, leaving just six of them alone in the messy remains of the bridge.

“Yes.” Loki responds slowly, slotting his hands together by his waist. “Yes, we will.” There is a pause as all eyes expectantly turn to him, and he cannot help the snarky smile that tugs at his lips. “Oh, I see. When you say ‘we need a plan’, what you are actually saying is that _I_ need to form a plan.”

Peter rolls his eyes, resting his hands on his belt in a gesture not too dissimilar to Kraglin. “Well, you are the one who knows about Svartlebartle-”

“Svartalheim.” Drax corrects.

“And all that shit.” Peter continues, ignoring the interruption. “What would you recommend we do?”

“We can’t just leave this as it is.” Gamora comments, her body language shifting from demanding to thoughtful. “Loki, if what you say is true then hundreds of lives are at risk. We-”

“It is my home at risk as much as Peter’s.” Loki cuts in, “In fact, as Crowned Prince it is my _duty_ to defend the realms. Of course I am going to do something. _What_ , however, is more of the problem.”

“We don’t know their full plan.” Drax thinks aloud. “It is unwise to go seeking battle without full knowledge of what you are facing.”

Rocket, sat on the edge of a table, shakes his head. “But they’ve done something to the jumps. Even if we wanted to go spy, there’s no way we could get there without getting noticed.”

( _The Atomhawk rumbles under his touch, shaking as he forces the vessel to go faster, straighter, aiming the boat directly at the discreet hole amongst the jagged cliff of rock. This time he will make it, he is sure. This time. This time. This time._ )

“There is.”

“Huh?”

“There is another way.” Loki’s nails scratch at his right hand as he mulls over the thought. “The Bifrost is not the only means of travel. Across the Nine are pockets, small clusters of dimensional gateways allowing passage between the realms.”

Gamora frowns at him. “Would that give us access to Svartalheim?”

“Yes.” He nods. “There is Elven magic still present here. I could use it to open up an access point to the branches of Yggdrasil. From there it is a matter of climbing the tree until you reach the correct pocket. Although…” Loki regards them for a moment, narrowing his eyes. “To walk and survive the World Tree takes much magical energy, even with a boost from the Elves. I do not think I could manage more than one other person accompanying me.”

“More than two people would cause suspicion anyway.” Drax comments.

Gamora stands up straighter, glancing between them. “Who should go?”

“I am Groot!”

“No.” Everyone responds in perfect unison. Groot deflates, grumbling and pouting as much as a plant is able.

“I am _Groot_ …”

Loki finds himself smiling despite himself. “Another time, perhaps, when the Nine are not in peril.” He offers. 

“It’s you who’s taking them.” Gamora addresses him. “Do you have any preferences?”

“Well…” Loki thinks aloud. “The Dark Elves are a vein species, and it did not pass my notice that Harper had a somewhat similar appearance to them. I suppose if the aim is to spy, then someone who would fit in enough that under clothing or a hood, they might pass as Elven.”

“Well then.” Rocket huffs, standing. “That narrows it down a bit.”

Suddenly, Peter finds himself the centre of attention. He squawks. “Wait, me?”

“If we found you a hood and dark leathers…” Gamora says, thinking it over. “We could around the market, maybe find you a shawl.”

“Hang on a second-”

“A little bit of makeup.” Rocket pipes up, suddenly all too eager. 

“There’s no way-”

“I have a dark towel I use for cleaning off sweat after I train.” Drax adds, the corners of his lips twitching, the only indicator that he is not being completely serious. “We could use that to cover your face.”

“Holy _fuck_ no!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Svartlebartle is the Svartalfheim version of Starbucks. Probably. They like their lattes.


	50. Chapter 50

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter is a laughing stock, Gamora is unimpressed, and Groot is demanding. Alternatively: An average Guardian Tuesday.

“I hate all of you.” Peter states, the picture of utter misery. 

“Of course you do.” Gamora absently replies, barely registering Peter’s whining as she carefully faffs with the outfit. “Hold still.”

Peter strops. “I mean it. At the moment, I’m thinking of all the ways I’m gonna get revenge.”

“Sure you are. Hold still.”

( _“Thor,” Says their mother’s voice, calm but hinting, “If you do not hold still, then your hair will become unpresentable. We do not want your dear friend Sif to see that, do we?”_ )

“Fire ants in Rocket’s fur. An electronic charge through Drax’s lifts. A Garjian cockroach in your bed-” Peter snaps his mouth shut as Gamora gives him a particularly unimpressed and threatening look. “Ok, maybe not that last one.”

Loki rolls his eyes, adjusting the leather straps around Peter’s arms. “Remember this is to help you blend in. If they spot you otherwise, you will probably be executed.”

“That’s not helping, dude.”

“Not my problem.”

Peter had banned Yondu and Kraglin from their own bridge, deeming it too mortifying to be seen in his current get-up. Loki personally did not see the issue. Yes, the leathers were ill-fitting and awkward, making Peter look like a child trying on a parent’s battle armour, but it could have been a whole lot worse.

A least they were not sneaking into Jotunheim. 

The ban had apparently no effect on the Captain and his first mate, because as Gamora was adding the finishing touches, making sure the buckles were done as tightly as possible, they both strolled in. Yondu took one look at Peter and promptly burst into laughter.

“Hey!” Peter whined. “Stop it!” Loki would not be surprised if Peter started stamping a foot.

Yondu does anything but stop. “They done ya good boy!”

“Why don’t you come down to the mess?” Kraglin snickers. “Crew need a good laugh!”

“You are dead to me.” Peter huffs. “Stone dead. Already rotted away in your graves.”

“Pleasant.” Loki huffs, fixing Peter with a stern look. “Do you have everything? I will only have enough magic to make the return journey once.”

Peter pats himself down, feeling for his blaster and other supplies. “Yeah, I think so.”

“Good, then get ready, we shall leave in a moment.” As Loki turns to feel for the Elven magic in the air, a familiar sensation of roots wrapping around his leg catches his attention. He only just manages to hold back the sigh as he feels Groot go clambering up his back.

Drax shakes his head. “The dumb tree is trying to sneak into your clothes.”

“Groot.” Rocket says sternly, crossing his arms.

“I am Groot.”

Loki reaches for the plant as Groot stands on his shoulder. “No, you are not. You must stay here with Rocket.”

“I _am Groot!_ ”

“Groot.” Rocket reprimands. “Get down here. Now.”

Loki gently takes Groot into his hands, feeling his hard expression wavering as Groot clings to his fingers. “We are not going for a holiday.” He says, softer. “Peter and I will be crawling around in the dirt for most of it, and we will be very close to danger. Maybe another time I can take you to see the Nine?”

“I am Groot?” Groot brightens a touch, moving from Loki’s hand to Rocket’s shoulder. “I am Groot?”

“He wants to know if you’ll bring him a souvenir.”

“Oh, well, I’ll, err…” There is very little on Svartalfheim, much less anything to entertain a small tree. “I’ll find you a nice…Rock.”

“I am Groot!”

“Really?” Rocket glances at Groot, deadpan. “Since when did you like rocks?”

“I _am_ Groot.”

“Sure…”

“Loki?” Peter pipes up behind him, making Loki turn. “I’m ready when you are.”

“Very well.” Loki nods, fingers quickly running over the areas he has stashed his knives. “Then if everyone can stand back, we shall leave.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Never underestimate the power of a nice rock.


	51. Chapter 51

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "I'm going on an adventure!" - Peter Quill

The magic hums in the air, fizzing against Loki’s outstretched hand. Peter stands directly behind, bracing Loki’s back while everyone else watches from the doorway.

“Whatever happens, do _not_ follow us, or attempt to touch this doorway.” Loki says calmly. “This is a space between dimensions, and there is no telling where you may end up if you cross over.”

The magic of the Dark Elves is swirling now, as if a vortex encasing his hand. It fights him; unhappy at being honed by anyone other than its master, but it does not take much for Loki to break it to his will. His own magic pools from his fingers, half of it swirling into the invisible whirlpool and reaching outwards, feeling for the branches of the World Tree and beckoning it towards him. The other half engulfs him and Peter, shading them in a gentle, emerald green glow. 

Yggdrasil, unlike other trees, does not require oxygen and sunlight to bloom. The atmosphere can be very violent if they enter in the wrong conditions, and Loki is not taking any chances.

A bright circular light begins bloom, starting in the centre of the twisting magic and slowly spiralling outwards until it is large enough for a man to pass through. The edges of the circle spark like fire crackers, as if a long fuse of powder had been lit. Beyond the circle, no longer could he see the wall of the bridge, but a dark, star-splattered sky. 

“Keep your hands on me.” Loki instructs Peter, taking a step forward. “And whatever you do, _never_ let go.”

“Shit, you don’t have to tell me twice.”

With great caution, keeping his magic spinning in time with the Elven, Loki steps through. Instead of the metal panelling he has become accustomed to from the ships (or brain matter from Knowhere); his foot meets the soft feeling of bark and wood. As he brings his other leg through Loki chances a glance over his shoulder.

“Come on, Peter. It is unwise for us to be on two different planes.”

He spots Peter nod from his peripheral vision, and the weight on Loki’s shoulders shifts as Peter leans on him to slowly climb through. Loki holds still, waiting until Peter is settled on the branch to shift slightly, slotting one arm through Peter’s elbow so he can fully peer behind them.

“Are you through? No limbs or weapons poking out?”

“Yeah…Yeah I’m all here.”

“Then hold perfectly still.” The branch is not particularly thick, Loki would not expect it to be considering how far from the Nine they are, so he has slide both hands down to Peter’s waist.

“Whoa, what-”

“I need to close it.” Loki huffs. “To do that I need to reach it. There is not a lot of space here-”

“You’re telling me.”

“But it is vital we do not lose contact with one another. Keep still, I can just get by.”

It is awkward, and both are very much within the other’s personal space, but seeing as the alternative is to fall between the branches of the World Tree, Loki is not going to complain.

Holding out his hand once more, Loki grabs hold and pulls at his magic, forcing the Elven to move with his as, much like yanking on the ties of a drawstring bag, he tugs the circle almost entirely closed. Only a small spark is left hanging in the air, Loki leaving it as their indicator for their doorway back.

“Holy…Dude, have you _seen_ this?”

Pulling away from their entranceway, but keeping enough focus so that his protective magic does not fall away from them, Loki follows Peter’s wide-eyed gaze to the world around them.

The tree is spectacular.

The branches are a soft purple, dappled with fuzzy blue moss as if someone had taken a watercolour paintbrush and dotted every knock and cranny of bark. The branches reach far and wide, stretching for miles upon miles across the cosmos and vanishing too far for the eye to see. At the centre of it all is a heavy trunk, the wood knotted and worn, and it rumbles as the tree sways gently. 

The sky is a splashed with the colours of deep ocean and bright lavender, stars marring endless world as if sun scorched freckles. They fade in and out, trailing across the sky like a pathway of milk poured into a flowing clear river.

As Loki stares up, up at the beauty around them, up at the tree and the bark, at the branches and the stars, something horrid and dark and burning catches his throat. It scorches, gross and horrible, completely juxtaposed to the brilliantness around them.

Without a second thought Loki snaps his gaze away, landing his gaze deliberately onto Peter’s shoulder. His legs wobble a touch.

Breathe in, breathe out.

Because he is standing in front, Peter does not see his moment of weakness, and continues to gape at Yggdrasil. His hair, which Loki notes with far too much interest may be in need of a trim soon, catches the collar of the costume they forced him into.

Breathe in, breathe out.

Loki closes his eyes, but at the whirl of galaxies that pop up under his eyelids very quickly opens them again. He swallows away the lump forming in his throat. Or the scream, at this stage it is honestly hard to tell.

Breathe in, breathe out.

They have a destination to get to; there is no time for sight-seeing.

“Let me by.” Loki says, his teeth locking away the quiver threatening to obscure his voice. “We must get moving.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Over enthusiastic voice over:
> 
> "It's the buddy cop, road trip adventure of the century! One's a disgraced Prince from Asgard, the other saved the galaxy by dancing! Their mission is to spy on Svartalfheim, but can such clashes in personality ever work together?! There will be hijinks! There will be shenanigans! And there will be lots, and lots, of different ways to say 'tree'! Peter and Loki star in, Tree Huggers! Coming to all theatres soon!"
> 
> Maybe not. 
> 
> Anyway, anyone catch the tiny Doctor Strange reference?


	52. Chapter 52

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What happens in this chapter? Space battles? Epic fights to the death? Nope. We discuss moss.

“Just for the record, this is fucking freaky.”

“I am sure Yggdrasil is most flattered by your compliments.” Loki says dryly, leading them along the branch. “Do not dawdle, if you get lost in here, you may be traveling between Realms for an eternity.”

Peter’s grip shifts slightly on his shoulder. “That’s…Comforting.”

“Indeed.”

The moss is a touch slippery underfoot, forcing their pace to be a cautious walk and for both of them to gaze down at their feet. Loki tries his best to steer them around the patches of blue, but even then he and Peter feel their footing loosen more than once.

The problem with looking at his feet is that Loki has to stare downwards, and his peripheral vision very much aware of the gigantic drop below. The space between branches is wide. If one was to fall here, there would be nothing to catch you.

“What is this stuff anyway?”

“Hm?” Loki glances over his shoulder.

Using his free hand, Peter waves down at the branch. “All this…Goo.”

“Eloquent. You mean the moss?”

“Moss…” Something catches in Peter’s voice, drifting off as he pauses for half a second. “Oh, Moss! Yeah, the stuff you get on trees and tombstones and shit. Wow, ok, damn I haven’t been…I haven’t even _thought_ …”

“Peter?”

“It’s just…” He stutters, and then tries again. “Yondu and Kraglin picked me up from Earth when I was twelve, and since then I haven’t really…There’s no trees or nature in _space_.”

“What about on planets? You must have visited a fair few of those.”

“Well, yeah sure, but mostly the towns and ports.” Although he is not looking, Loki feels Peter shrug. “Only time you need to go anywhere else is for missions, and most of that is robbing rich people, so…”

“So you have not thought about, nor seen, natural things such as moss for a while.”

“I guess.” There is a hint of embarrassment in his voice. “I dunno. I just had a moment of, ‘wow, I probably haven’t thought about moss in over twenty-something years’. Y’know?”

Loki hums. “There is no shame in that. Midgard is a solitary planet; it is only natural that you would become so distracted once you were unjustly brought into outer space, especially at such a young age. Children often become easily excited and only need a few bright colours to keep their thoughts entertained. I have no doubt the stars proved an impossible temptation.”

“Still, I can’t help but wonder what else I’ve forgotten…” is Peter’s soft, strangely vulnerable reply.

“Give it time.” Loki shakes his head. “You were a child, and then an adolescent going through puberty. Only now in your adult years have your thoughts settled enough for you to focus on the things you have not had the time for before.”

Peter is quiet, and Loki allows him his space, reaching up to tuck a stray strand of hair from his face. He should really seek getting it cut at some point; it has grown long since his time here, and now nearly reaches his mid-shoulder. If he allows it to get any longer he will have to tie it back in a braid. 

“I don’t remember moss being blue.”

The statement is said with such seriousness that it forces a bark of laughter from Loki.

“No, I doubt there is very little in the way of blue moss.” He chuckles. “We are walking the branches of the World Tree; nothing here is as it is in the natural world. Our objective is to quickly pass between Realms, so seeing as the moss have left us be for the moment, let us not tempt fate.”

“Could it be dangerous?”

Loki shakes his head. “I do not know. The magic and powers of Yggdrasil are very ancient and may never be fully understood. While this may be moss to us, it may be that we are walking on top of galaxies, or entire universes.” He flashes a grin over his shoulder. “Try not to think about it, the moss has yet to do anything-”

He cuts off with a strangled yelp as his foot skids out from beneath him, falling heavily forward onto his hips as his legs slip either side of the branch. The bark scrapes at his bare hands, scratching deeply though not enough to draw blood. His legs dangle down as if he was ungracefully sat on horseback. It is only through sheer luck that Peter was able to cling on as he tripped, otherwise their connection would have been lost and Loki’s magic severed. 

Plus, Loki may have fallen over the edge, which would have been…Delightful. 

“Dude!” Peter inches closer, putting his other hand on Loki’s back. “You ok?”

In response Loki just groans, doubling over as his hands reach to the centre of his waist. “I do not recommend that…” He wheezes.

“What… _Oh_. Ah.”

Hooking his feet together under the branch to secure himself in place, trying not to dwell on how _thin_ their platform is, Loki allows his body to double over, though slowly so Peter does not lose his grip. The sword digs against his back.

“Of all the things I thought we would have to deal with today…” A small smile tugs at his lips despite himself. “ _This_ was not one of them.”

“I won’t tell Rocket.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Loki, I'm sure there's many readers wincing in sympathy with you right now!


	53. Chapter 53

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A chapter which TOTALLY ISN'T lighthearted because of certain near-future events which may or may not cause great angst and feels and we need something cheerful first.
> 
> Nope.
> 
> Not at all.
> 
> What gave you that idea?

_“There’s a road I’d like to tell you about, lives in my home town. Lake Shore Drive the road is called, and it’ll take you up or down.”_

Loki blinks, and stops, and twists his head around.

“What,” He asks sharply, “Is that?”

“Lake Shore Drive, Princess.” Peter shrugs easily, waving his Walkman in his free hand as if the music could be sourced from elsewhere. “A total classic. Not sure what year it is, though, the box doesn’t say.”

A strand of hair blows across Loki’s eyes, and he brushes it off. “That may be the case, but I was under the impression that we were here for a purpose.” The sword on his back tingles with soft magic, gently brushing against Loki’s own but remaining quiet. Loki ignores it.

“Yeah, we are.” Peter says, as if trying to convince Loki of something completely obvious. He gestures around. “But there’s nobody here, and the tree won’t collapse because of some _music._ ”

“Still,” Loki tucks the same piece of hair behind his ear again. “We are supposed to be concentrating on the mission.”

“We can, _while_ listening to tunes.”

“Fine.” Loki caves after a moment of staring at Peter’s unwavering expression. “But not too loud, I cannot allow my magic to slip because of Glen Campbell.”

Peter laughs, delighted and excited, like a child keen on weaponry meeting a blacksmith. “Not his song, dude, but I appreciate the effort. Someone’s been listening in when I talk music.”

“On your ship Peter, it is impossible not to.” Loki sighs, resisting the urge to rub at his forehead. Instead he clasps his hands over the sheath strap.

“How far do we have to go, anyway?”

“First we need to get to the trunk of Yggdrasil.” The same strand of hair is blown into his face once more, and perhaps a touch too violently Loki pushes it all back. “We do not have far to go, maybe another half hour at most. Once there, I will be able to orientate myself and locate the Nine. Then it is simply the matter of walking along the correct branch.”

“And how’re we gonna get back?”

“You mean to the branch back to the Knowhere?”

“Yeah.”

Loki mulls it over, the wind tickling against his skin. “Ideally, we would mark the route. However the laws and physics of this place can be unpredictable. We may think we are simply chalking a path, but we may be destroyed entire galaxies elsewhere, or other dimensions.”

Peter groans. “Will you ever answer my questions without saying something terrifying?”

“I would not place a wager on it.” Loki chuckles softly. “We shall have to go by memory. Once we have located the branch to Svartalfheim, we will count how many branches up or down our own is.”

“Fun.” The tape makes a whirring sound, and a new tune begins to play. “Hey, do y’know this one?”

“The artist or the song?”

“Both!” Peter exclaims, far too cheerful at the prospect that Loki would know his music after enduring it for over a month. Honestly, what did he expect? Loki is not _deaf_.

“I believe the song is called Surrender, is it not?” Peter makes a sound far too akin to Thor when Loki would agree to spar. “Though that is not _hard_ to determine, Peter, the answer is in the lyrics.”

“It is far too amusing to hear you discussing this!” If Loki was to glance over his shoulder, he is sure he would see a goofily wide grin plastered across Peter’s face. “And the artist? Who sings this?”

Loki thinks for a moment. “It is not a name, in the sense of Peter Quill or Glen Campbell. A name of a group, correct?”

“Yes!” 

“Control yourself, it is not that exciting.”

“Oh, it is,” Loki can practically _hear_ Peter’s grin, “It really is. C’mon, who is it?”

“Probably something nonsensical, I am sure.” Loki resists rolling his eyes, keeping them down to watch his footing. He has already met the branch once today, and that was more than enough. “It was two words…”

“Yeah…” Peter prompts. “Two _short_ words…”

“It was…Something similar to a popular saying…”

“Wish Rocket was here.” Peter muses as Loki tugs at his sleeves, bringing them further down to somewhat cover his hands which are becoming cold from the breeze. “He would be so proud. All the Ravagers love this stuff. I had to send them all these new tunes when I got them. Got the feeling that Yondu would whistle me to death if I didn’t, though he wouldn’t admit it…”

“Cheap Trick!” Loki suddenly exclaims, clicking his fingers as he does and causing Peter to whoop behind him. “That is it. Lady Sif used to say how some of my pranks were cheap tricks. That is where I have heard it before.”

“Beautiful.” Peter beams, sparking an odd sensation in Loki’s chest. “Let’s see how many others you know!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Peter the Walking Jukebox, good for birthday parties, weddings, and walking between Realms on a mystical galaxy tree!
> 
> (Free Live Horse available with all purchases)


	54. Chapter 54

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which I'm too tired to think of anything witty for the summary, so you get this: Tree, portals in the sky, wind.

“Peter, do you feel that?”

Peter makes a humming sound in response, far too preoccupied with the tape player to properly pay attention. He has been playing odd seconds of songs, testing to see if how well acquainted Loki is with each tune.

Any other situation and Loki may find this mildly entertaining, however here it had become old pretty quickly. 

They are very near to the trunk now, close enough that Loki can begin to pick out details of the wood. Instead of the eye-shaped knots common on the trunks and branches of the trees back on Asgard, and likely everywhere else, here the knots in the wood appear more akin to spirals, probably indicators of distant cosmos rather than twisted wood. 

The breeze, which Loki has been paying no mind as he and Peter chatted on Blue Swede and Rupert Holmes, has, very suddenly, picked up. Loki’s hair tickles at his neck as it is blown, and only now does it occur to him that there should not be a wind here unless-

The branch sways, not violently nor powerful enough to send them flying, but still causes Peter to make a yelping sound as they bob around, waving his free arm in an effort to keep his balance. The music stops. 

“What the fuck-”

“Some kind of storm,” Loki says, watching the other branches move in the wind, “Probably caused by something happening to a galaxy somewhere. A star may have died, or two planets clashed together. Something which might have started small and isolated could have rippled-”

“Yeah, great, awesome!” Peter cuts in, giving his shoulder a small shake. “What do we do? We’re totally out in the open!”

Loki swallowed, glancing around as he slowly begins to walk again. “It is not bad, yet. We should be able to reach Svartalfheim before it becomes a problem. Let us hope that is passes before we need to return.”

“Knowing our luck, it’ll get bad right at the wrong moment.” Loki pauses and shoots a sharp gaze over his shoulder, making Peter stutter. “R-Right, sorry, I never said anything. It’ll be fine, you see.”

“Let’s just reach the trunk; I have had enough of this place.”

“You and me both, Princess.”

Very carefully they move along the branch in a manner which is a combination of hurried yet cautious. If they are on borrowed time, then there is no point in wasting it. The branch starts to thicken out underfoot as they draw near to the trunk, offering more support and requiring less careful manoeuvring. Still, Loki is not going to let them run at top speed. 

To slip over the edge now would do them little good. One could fall for decades and never meet another soul or a solid surface, and who knows the effect an intergalactic, interdimensional tree-based storm would do to the body?

If you went back to his teenage years and told Loki that one day the feeling of a tree trunk beneath the hand would be a source of great comfort and relief, he would have declared you mad and banished you from the realm.

Life can be so strange, at times.

“Cool, we’re here.” Peter states unhelpfully, peering up at the many branches above them. “Now what?”

“Now, we must locate the Nine Realms.” Loki peers up into the tree, eyes running along each branch. “This should not be too difficult. Yggdrasil exists to support the Nine; all these other branches are merely pathways. While they contain galaxies-”

“Like vines across different trees?”

Loki blinks at the seemingly random comparison. “Excuse me?”

There is enough space for them to stand side by side, Loki’s magic now connecting them through their touching shoulders. “So, imagine vines…You do have vines on Asgard, right?”

“Yes.”

Peter nods. “It’s like when you get vines growing around a tree, but it’s in a crowded forest so eventually the vines gotta move, yeah?”

“I see…” Loki gives Peter a look to clearly indicate he has no idea where Peter is going with this.

“I have a point.” Peter reassures. “And so you end up with all the other trees in the area getting wrapped up with the same single vine plant. The first tree is the main one, the rest is just expansion, they weren’t intended to be part of this network.”

“That…” Loki muses it over, “Is a rather complicated way to describe it, but you are not incorrect.”

“And Rocket calls me dumb.” Peter puffs out his chest, a stupidly oaf-like grin on his face.

“I think I shall reserve judgement for the time being.” Loki shakes his head, returning his eyes skyward. “Oh!” He suddenly exclaims, “I have just spotted Alfheim!”

“Alfheim…” Peter echoes. “Where?” He follows Loki’s pointing finger. “The odd round portal thing?”

“No, the moss. Of course the _odd round portal thing._ ” 

“Hey, I’m a newbie, don’t judge! I ain’t-” Peter pauses mid-sentence, and then points in another direction. “Is that another one?”

“Where?” Loki peers up. “Ah yes, that looks like…Muspelheim, I believe?”

“You _believe_? We’re not gonna end up in the wrong place, are we?”

Loki rolls his eyes. “It has been a while. And no, we- Wait, there is Vanaheim, oh and…”

Peter glances at him. “And?”

“Asgard.” There is an abrupt dryness in Loki’s mouth, but he forces it to be swallowed away and clears his throat. 

“I thought you said Asgard was unreachable?” Peter asks quietly, the expression in his face uncomfortable with pushing a subject he knows Loki is uneasy with, but in need of an answer.

“It is.” He responds, one hand absently finding another to pick at the skin of his thumb. “The Bifrost is broken. These paths we are on now are hidden, known only to a select few. Apart from the Allfather, I am unsure who else knows this place exists.” Loki shucks in a breath, shaking the flashes of Asgard from his mind. The brief image of Thor is drowned in favour of other, more distracting thoughts. “If Asgard is there, then Svartalfheim should be…There.” 

Loki points, indicating a lone, swirling portal. Strange, black magic swirls around the edges, jerking as if a pained snake. 

“The Portal of Doom?” Peter croaks weakly. “Yaaaay.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I...Honestly can't think of any puns today. I'm literally uploading this and then going straight to bed.
> 
> How about this: Write any tree-based jokes/puns you know in the comments below (haha, that rhymes, nice), let's see how many we can think of!


	55. Chapter 55

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Scene change!

“Ok, Peter. Ready yourself.” Loki stands before the portal, Peter taking up a similar stance to the one he had taken previously when they first entered Yggdrasil, his hands bracing Loki’s back. The Svartalfheim entrance is eight branches up from the one they entered on, something Loki keeps mentioning to Peter so they both remember.

“Nothing’s going to pop out and eat us, is it?”

“Well… _Hopefully_ not. But I do not know where this portal will take us.”

Peter huffs, muttering, “Hopefully he says…”

Rolling his eyes, Loki allows his magic to stretch out. It pools from his hand, reaching out like extensions of his fingers to tap against the portal. A ripple runs across its surface, reacting to the spell and slowly curling open, as if a pair of curtains had been drawn back. The image within the portal, which before had been akin to murky, misty water, sharpens, revealing black earth, dark rock and yellow-tinted sky. 

“Did a god take a leak in the air or something?”

“Come on, while it lasts.”

With more confidence then he actually possessed, Loki strides forward, feeling Peter mirror him as he steps off the branch and through, foot meeting crunchy, loose gravel. 

“I hate magic…” Peter is murmuring to himself, “When I went to space I thought I’d be seeing cool tech and spaceships, not wizards and witches.”

“I am not a witch.” Loki tuts, “Are you through?”

“Yeah.”

“Then we no longer need to be touching. The atmosphere should be quite safe.” Once Peter has detached himself from his shoulders, Loki turns and recalls his magic, allowing the portal to darken to its dormant state.

Peter frowns at it. “I thought it’d be like before? All large and glow-y and stuff?”

“No.” Loki regards the portal, which has dimmed to a near unnoticeable level. A faint crackle of magic can be detected around the portal’s edge, but one would only be able to see it if they were looking. “If they were easy to find, everyone would use them.”

“How did you find them?”

“By crashing a small fleet of Atomhawks.” Loki answers brazenly, offering no elaboration. In truth, he would rather not go into the details of the week he repeatedly came home battered and more than slightly broken because he had misjudged the exact angle needed to reach the portal of Asgard, or the week following that where he nearly suffocated, thrice, from the Yggdrasil’s strange atmosphere.

The Allfather had still deemed him young enough for grounding, much to Thor’s amusement and Loki’s dismay. 

Turning away from the portal, Loki takes in their surroundings. They stand in what appears to be the middle of nowhere, rolling hills of black, fist-sized rocks stretching as far as the eye can see. Beside them a lone bolder sits heavily in the unstable ground, acting as the only visible feature or point of reference in miles.

“Welp,” Peter pops the ‘p’, “This is scenic.” 

“Is it not just? Even if the Dark Elves did not dwell here, I highly doubt this place would receive many visitors.” A cool wind blows across the barren landscape, blowing Loki’s hair. “This place is depleted of resources, lacks much in terms of organisation or economic structure, and leaves little to be desired politically. It is, in short, the most useless of the Nine Realms.”

“Why are the Dark Elves even here then?”

“They come from Ginnungagap, the Yawning Abyss, and seek to bring the universe back into an age of darkness.” Loki shrugs. “Would _you_ give them the best land, with the ability to forge weaponry to be used to threaten the safety of the Nine?”

“Good point. So, where now?”

“Um…” Loki chews his lip, glancing around the less than thrilling landscape. He had hoped that, like the portal to and from Asgard, the one to Svartalfheim would be located close to civilisation. However, this very clearly is not the case, which is more than a touch concerning. “That way?”

Peter is unimpressed. “You have no idea, do you?”

“Nope!” Loki pops the ‘p’ in a petty manner, shoving his hands behind his back so his nails can scrape at his skin unnoticed while flashing a grin. Peter groans.

“Fucking fantas-”

A horrendously loud, horrendously jarring wail of aching metal shakes the air, vibrating the loose rock underfoot and causing both of them to flinch terribly, their hands flying to their ears. Something dark and huge bursts into appearance overhead, the sharp iron smell of ozone filling the air.

“Holy shit!” Peter shrieks, shrinking back against the boulder. 

Loki silently agrees, staring up wide-eyed at the massive ship overhead.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You would think Svartalheim would have a booming tourist industry, wouldn't you? Such scenic views...
> 
> Also, A* for all your tree-puns last chapter, they were amazing and I loved every one of them!!
> 
> Note for all those reading this after the original post date: Between here and chapter 62, the quality of my writing drops. I was in a bit of an odd place and also found writing those chapters hard. I'm sorry about it, but unless I went and redid them (which would take days), I had to leave them as they are. Things will pick up again, I promise.


	56. Chapter 56

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I spy with my little eye...

The ship’s engines roar, blasting hot and humid air around them and spiralling up dust and dirt. Loki’s hair whips, and he chances uncovering his ears to push it back. 

Peter grabs hold of his arm, yelling a quick, “Come on!” over the noise as he drags Loki around to the other side of the boulder, sheltering from the wind and from sight. Peter peers around, squinting, before frowning in confusion.

“What?” Loki shouts.

“I recognise that ship!” Peter calls back, not looking away. “It was on Knowhere, I saw it in the docks!” 

“So that likely means that the ship just jumped!” Loki calls out, still struggling to be heard over the engines. “We should follow it, see what-” He cuts off as Peter snaps upright, his arm flinging out to push Loki against the boulder. Loki stills, and another, more tinny and warped sounding engine joins the ship.

Cautiously, he peaks around Peter, eyes widening at the bizarre-shaped ship he has only ever seen in illustrations. The racket from the Knowhere ship calms as it rattles to the ground, giant mechanical legs manoeuvring downward to settle on the earth. Finally, with a heaving sigh, the engines settle into silence.

The second ship floats forward, much quieter, and a long door opens to allow a small ramp to slowly extend to the floor. 

“What is it?” Peter hisses.

“An Ark,” Loki replies, watching as four members of the Knowhere ship’s crew exit and cautiously walk towards it. “The warships of the Dark Elves, there was a scroll on them in the Royal Library.”

“I think that’s the first time you’ve answered me without adding a prophecy of death to it.”

Loki snorts, watching as three figures leave the Ark, moving purposefully down the ramp and towards the Knowhere crew.

“Those are Dark Elves.” He whispers, nodding towards the figures as they stop before the small group, saying something. Although Loki strains, they are too far away to hear. 

“Cheerful looking bunch.”

“They are extremely dangerous when they want to be.” Whatever is being discussed, the Knowhere crew seem intrigued, putting away drawn weapons to stand more causally. “It is interesting, given what Harper said I thought they would be attacking the outsiders. However…” The lead Dark Elf points in a direction and the Knowhere crew nod.

“They’ve made a deal.” Peter pipes up. 

Loki blinks. “You can hear them?”

“No, but I’ve done enough deals to recognise one when I see it.” Peter shrugs, watching as the two groups return to their respective ships. “I think the Elves told the others to follow them.”

“Right, then we shall follow.”

“What?” Peter yelps. “How? It’s a big ass ship and you’ve only got little legs!”

“I am barely an inch shorter than you.” Loki rolls his eyes. “And I am not suggesting that we run after it…” His gaze lands on one of the back legs supporting the Knowhere ship. 

Peter catches on quick. “Oh no. No, no, no, there is no way I’m ever-”

Loki grabs Peter’s shoulder and teleports them. 

His vision blurs as colours burst around them, strangely reminiscent of the hypnotic teleportation of the Bifrost, before snapping back into focus as they land on a ledge just below a joint in the leg. 

“There.” He says plainly, fighting the wave of nausea that washes over him. “That saved us an argument, I believe.”

Peter is already on his knees, shoulders heaving. “I hate you…” He mutters, “I hate you so much…” Loki pats his back sympathetically, blinking away his own dizziness. “I thought that took up a ton of energy?”

“It does, however if we stood and argued we would lose our only chance.”

Peter hums. “Still hate you, though.”

“You will get over it, I am sure.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Loki TOTALLY used to use the shut-up-via-teleportation method on Thor growing up!


	57. Chapter 57

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Business deals are thrilling!

They end up on a small railed balcony-like ledge probably used to examine the supports when the ship is docked and in need of repairs. The floor is rusty, patchy at best, and Loki does not allow himself to think on the rickety condition of the railings. 

The engines whirl into gear, lifting from the ground to make slow progress through the air.

It was not too bad, at first, and Loki naively allowed himself to believe that it had been surprisingly easy.

And then the ship hit full speed.

The wind howls as if pained, vibrating the thin metal floor terribly as they soar behind the Dark Elves. If it was not for his leathers, Loki is sure his skin would be paralyzed with the cold. The rails rattle loudly, banging and straining against their bolts, and Loki is sure that all it would take is one decent jolt for them to come crashing off.

“Next time,” Peter shouts at him as he clings on for dear life, “Take Rocket!”

Loki does not humour him with a response, instead squeezing his eyes shut as bile rises in his throat. The sheath feels tight around his chest, the sword digging into his back.

( _“Loki,” Thor says, realisation dawning upon his face and twisting into horror. “No-”_

_Loki releases Gungnir, staring blankly, numbly, as he falls from the Bifrost, barely thinking twice as he shifts his gaze away from Thor to the wormhole below. His hair is manic around his head, blown by the intense wind from the rip in space, and his cape tugs at his shoulders and neck as it gets yanked to and fro._

_There is an intense lurch of his stomach, the one most people experience when they suffer a sudden, panic-inducing fall_ -)

Maybe Loki should have allowed Peter to talk him out of this little plan.

“Hey!” Peter reaches over to smack at Loki’s arm. “Look!”

The barren landscape below is no longer barren, but littered with people and ships. 

Blinking away the galaxies darting in front of his eyes Loki focuses in on the world below, noting the multiple gatherings of camps. Ships of all shapes and sizes are scattered around, their crews talking to one another as well as the Dark Elves, who appear to be patrolling the area.

The ship’s engines shift and they begin their decent. 

“Come on.” Loki pulls Peter to his feet as the leg makes a clanking noise. “This is our ride down. Keep low.”

Rather luckily, the ship has landed on the edge of the group and on the side not facing the people is a small build-up of dark rock. As quietly as possible, Loki and Peter duck down behind the crest of the hill, flat on their stomachs and only just peering over. 

The Knowhere crew exit their ship, Loki counting around twenty of them, and are greeted by five Dark Elves and-

“Malekith.”

“Gesundheit.”

Loki blinks, raising an eyebrow at Peter but deciding to ignore the comment. “Malekith, the one without the mask, he is the leader of the Dark Elves.”

“What does he want with all these people? There must be hundreds here-” 

“Wait.” Loki shifts himself so he is a touch higher, face twisting into bewilderment as he scans the camps. “Wait, that man over there, he’s…” His eyes lock onto another. “And that woman…And that man-”

“You know them?”

“ _Yes_.” Something tight twists in Loki’s chest, his stomach feels uneasy. “Yes, those men were jailed just before Thor’s coronation. And that woman about a year before that, how…”

The leader of the Knowhere crew steps forward to address Malekith. This time, they are close enough to listen in.  
“Name’s Bruk.” He says, holding out a hand. Malekith does not take it. “Your boys said something about a deal.”

“Indeed.” Malekith studies the man with narrowed eyes, going over each of the crew. They must all come from somewhere similar to Asgard, as they lack the usual brightly coloured skin Loki has grown accustomed to in space. “What experience do you have of battle?”

“More than our fair share.” Bruk laughs easily. “Pretty much every other week we’re in some kind of skirmish.”  
“Ravager wannabes.” Peter mutters under his breath.

“Well then.” Malekith’s face twists. “We would like to proposition you into our army, to help us in battle against Asgard.”

“Right.” Bruk becomes more serious. “Go on.”

“Asgard is weak, politically and structurally. We Dark Elves intend to attack.”

“So you want us as muscle and cannon fodder.” Bruk huffs. “The thing is, we came here wanting to pillage Asgard ourselves. The webpage-”

“That was our creation.” Malekith interrupts. “A useful tool, the internet, is it not?”

“How’d we get here, anyway? We programmed the jump to Asgard.”

Malekith waves a hand. “’Jumping’. Yes, that is what you space-dwellers call it. A little dark magic is all it takes to alter such a thing, it really is very flimsy.”

“Uh-huh.” Bruk eyes the Dark Elves behind Malekith. “So we take part in your little battle, do all the hard work as you take over Asgard, but what’s in it for us? What do we get outta it?”

“Asgard is bloated with treasures.” Malekith says, tone turning bitter. “Look around you, why do you think there is nothing here. Gold, gemstones, there are hundreds of items ready for the picking. Once we have control, you, and everyone else here will be allowed to fill your ships to the brim.” Malekith gives a knowing smile. “Better than the few isolated trinkets you originally intended for, you would not agree?”

“Wouldn’t they want that stuff for themselves?” Peter whispers.

“No,” Loki shakes his head, “The Dark Elves are creatures of magic, and much prefer the objects the Allfather keeps in the vaults. I suspect that these people would not be allowed down there.”

After a brief consultation with the rest of his crew, Bruk flashes a grin. “Alright, you got yourselves a deal.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And thus, the plot for this story is finally unveiled in all it's glory!! And we're only, what, 57 chapters in? 
> 
> ...
> 
> ...
> 
> Look character development is important, ok?!


	58. Chapter 58

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> *Pink Panther theme tune plays*

Malekith leads the Knowhere men into the camp, and Peter turns to Loki. “What do we do now?”

Scanning the area, Loki bites at his lip, his tongue running along the cracked lines. They now know the intention behind the webpage, and some of the plans of the Dark Elves, but there are still answers to be gained. Finding out when the attack is planned is a key one. How they are planning to transfer all these people is another. But the one nagging at Loki the most at the moment is-

“Everyone looks the same…” Peter says, eyes darting around. “Harper looked like these Dark Elf dudes, and…Yeah, everyone here is paled skinned.”

“I suppose the correct term would be ‘racist’.” Loki explains quietly. “The Dark Elves believe themselves superior above all others. It makes sense that they exclude those who do not fit their type from their army.”

“What happens to those who don’t?”

Loki ponders it over for a moment. “They are likely still helping, but have been ‘specially selected’ to help with other areas outside the army. They may be helping mine resources, or building weapons…”

“Out of sight.” Peter sneers, his nose wrinkling. “What bastards.”

“I do not dispute you there.” He works his jaw. “They are the most vein of all the Nine and-” Loki snaps his mouth shut, only for it to hang open again.

“And?” Peter prompts, but Loki is not listening. Instead, his gaze is locked on the tall figure weaving between the tents, nodding their head in greeting to those they pass. 

The tall, _blue_ figure.

“O-Oh…” His voice is weak, quiet, as if lodged in his throat like a sickly piece of honey cake. “It appears there are some exceptions.”

“He looks like a larger, less beer-bellied Yondu.” Peter states bluntly, and then blinks at him. “And you, after the sword-”

“Yes, thank you Peter.” Inwardly, Loki curses the sword strapped to his back. He had been perfectly fine keeping that little secret to himself, _thank you very much_. 

“What is he?”

( _"Am I cursed?"_

_“No.” Odin replies, almost instantly. As if determined in his answer, firm, like he is snipping the bud before it blooms._

_“What am I?”_ )

“A Frost Giant.” They watch as the Giant pauses by a campfire, a small group of- “And those are Vanir, from Vanaheim.” The Giant says something, and all the Vanir look at him apprehensively. Nearby, a lone and unseen Dark Elven guard turns their head in the group’s direction. “We need to get closer.”

“Easier said than done, I think.”

“There is a group of tents over there, do you see?” He points them out. They are a faded yellow colour, and sit side-by-side in a cluster. “If we hide behind them, then we shall be close enough to hear yet out of sight.”

Peter’s eyes dart over the short distance they will have to cross. “If we keep low and quick we _should_ make it.”

“Then let us hurry.”

Bent down, they slip over the crest of the hill and run across the open area. The noise of people rises as they draw close, the sounds of crackling fires and laughter and cooking pots echoing in Loki’s ears. A ship rests at the halfway mark, and it goes unspoken between Loki and Peter that they are to pause and check around once they reach it. 

“So far so good.” Peter hisses, squatting on his toes. “All clear this side.”

“And here, too .” 

The tents are large things but not overly so. If Thor was to stand inside one, he would be able to fully stand and swing his arms around himself, though not much more than that. The Vanir and Giant are too engrossed in conversation to notice them, the darkness of the sky helping to conceal the two in the shadows.

“You’re twisting what I’m saying.” A Vanir, male with a braid in his hair, says, and as Loki peaks around the corner of the tent he spots him crossing his arms. “I’m not saying Asgard don’t deserve it, just that maybe this isn’t the way.”

“It’s totally the way.” A woman with brown hair huffs, “Trust me. Serving under those buffoons was horrific.”

A younger man grins. “Totally worth it though.” The woman laughs.

“You served the Allfather?” The Giant, who has now sat crossed legged on the ground, asks.

“It is part of their plan.” The young man replies, moving around in his seat. “A number of us were sent in to work at the Palace. We had to do all kinds of stuff.”

“Get pictures for the…” The woman trails off, waving her hand. “The thing they’re using to get all these space people in with. We also had to break people out of the dungeons and jails across Asgard, and hire them into this army.”

“The best part was the rumours, though.” The young man says, grinning wickedly. “See, while Asgard is weak from the Bifrost, it still is politically strong.”

The Giant cocks his head. “So you spread rumours?”

“Spread rumours, made Council members doubt one another, created confusion,” The woman lists off. “Told Thor that his daddy wanted to see him when he didn’t, or didn’t tell him when meetings where.”

“And then you were fired.” The man with the braid says plainly. “And had to come join the army side of things.”

The young man shrugs. “We were fired, sure, but others weren’t. They’re still there, making all those snobby nobles question things, feel betrayed.”

“So when it comes to invasion,” The Giant thinks aloud, nodding in understanding. “They will be unstable. This, plus the broken Bifrost, means Asgard with be distracted when we invade.”

“Exactly.” The young man and woman say at once, blinking and then laughing at each other.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey look, plot's a thing!


	59. Chapter 59

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Who's up for some campfire songs? Maybe a few smores? What about discussing dictators and empires?

“I still don’t like this.” The braided haired man shakes his head. “Working with the Dark Elves…”

“Oh be quiet.” The woman chastises with a roll of her eyes, mouth a thin line. Determinedly she states, “The Allfather has it coming, and that’s that.”

The Giant makes a low, grumbling noise. “You saw what Asgard did to Jotunheim. They have always imposed cruel and unfair control over us; we are literally nothing to them!” He thuds a fist against the ground, making those nearest to him jump. “They just enjoy hanging the land ownership over our heads. The casket of Ancient Winters, _our_ casket, has been kept from us for centuries.”

“We displace Asgard, we get our freedom.” The young man nods. “Our land to ourselves, just imagine it. And,” He holds up a hand when the man with the braid goes to speak. “The Dark Elves have no use for us afterwards. They’ve never tried to control us, or rule us. We help them conquer Asgard, and all the Nine can finally be left to exist in peace.”

“Oh you fools…” Loki whispers, placing his head in his hand. Peter glances at him. “These beings are so desperate, so keen to rid themselves from one dictator, that they are blind to another.”

“The Dark Elves would act all Empire-like on them too?”

“Worse,” Loki shakes his head, “Much, much worse.”

“Maybe we could try talking to them?”

“No.” The little group begin talking of other topics, the man with the braid slowly beginning to settle into the easy laughter. “They are set in their ways and their goals. To talk in favour of Asgard, here and now, would be of little use.”

“Right.” Peter glances around. “Well, we know the plan now, and the methods. We should go while we’ve got the chance.”

Loki bites the inside of his cheek. “There are still unanswered questions…”

“Yeah, but from my experience, you’ll never be able to get _all_ the answers.” They both still at the sound of footsteps, the doorway of the tent flapping as someone enters. Inwardly sighing, Loki meets Peter’s eyes and nods.

With great care, they begin to quietly sneak their way back to the little hill.

They do not know everything. The _whens_ and _hows_ remain a mystery. However, Peter is correct. A camp is a very hard place to keep hidden, and they are lucky with the amount of information they have already acquired. It should, if the Fates favour them, be enough to convince Asgard of the impending attack and arrange defences, traps and evacuation protocols. The Dark Elves did not appear to be preparing to invade in the next few days, so they had some time.

Of course, this depends on whether the Allfather will believe them, believe him.

( _“No, Loki.”_ )

“Why am I in this getup anyway?” Peter asks as they duck out of sight over the hill. “It’s uncomfortable.”

Loki shrugs. “We did not know what we would encounter. If we were forced to investigate an Elven building, these leathers would have disguised you enough for us to get by. In the end, it appears they were unnecessary.” 

“Whoopy-doo.” Peter says, sarcasm thick and expression unimpressed. “So how are we getting back to the portal?”

Loki shoots him a look. “You have legs-”

“Aw, _man._ ”

They are forced to crawl on their stomachs at first, keeping low to the ground as they inch away from the camp. Only when they are far enough away to not be seen are they able to stand and begin the long trek back.

“So, Asgard,” Peter begins, walking in time with Loki. “It’s an Empire? Like, the British Empire?”

“I do not know what the difference between a normal Empire and a British Empire is,” Loki shrugs, “However, in a sense, yes, that is what Asgard is. Though,” He waves a hand, trying to find the right words. “The rest of the Nine are not so much _colonies_ but rather lands under our laws, protection and leadership.”

“Still an Empire, Princess.”

“I know, I am not disputing that.” His hands tighten at his sides, nails digging into palms. “Asgard has always been the natural leader of the Nine, we are the most powerful, the most advanced. We strive to keep the peace, which does mean restricting what certain Realms do and do not have.”

“Like the Casket of Old Farts or whatever it was.”

“Ancient Winters, and yes. The Frost Giants attempted to invade Midgard a long time ago, and have not been allowed to have such a powerful item back because of this.”

“How is Asgard the most powerful? You got the biggest guns?”

“Power is not always physical.” Loki explains, his mind drifting back to the books and scrolls of the Royal Library. “Asgard has knowledge, and uses that to its advantage. The Allspeak, for example, was created using magic to allow cross-communication across the Nine. It is the dominant language, enabling us to create peace, trade, and police the Realms. Everyone we have heard here today has used it, which is why you have been able to understand everything.”

“Uh-huh.”

“You do not sound convinced.”

“It’s just…” Peter shakes his shoulders about. “What happens if you make a new law, and somewhere doesn’t like it?”

“Then negotiations begin.” Even as Loki says this, a horrid, uneasy feeling sparks within. He is not stupid, he understands that the Allfather has had to display his dominance more than once on an unruly Realm. However, it has always been displayed, to both him and the Council, and the rest of Asgard, as justified. These are the barbaric ways of this Realm; it is our place to put them on the path of civilisation. 

( _“While you wait and be patient,” Thor sneers, “The Nine Realms laugh at us. The old ways are done. You’d stand giving speeches while Asgard falls?”_

_“You are a vein, greedy, cruel boy!”_

_“And you are an old man and a fool!”_ )

“It works out, in the end.” Loki finishes, words tasting sour on his tongue.

Peter purses his lips, humming unhappily. He glances away, not making eye contact as he weakly says, “Don’t take this the wrong way, dude, but the victors always write history in their favour. From the way everyone was talking, all of…All the ideas of protection and peace? It kinda sounds like horseshit. This doesn’t look like peace.”

The bizarre magic of the sword vibrates within the sheath, making Loki’s own magic crackle under his skin in response.

“I know, Peter.” Loki nods, tightness to his chest making his stomach curl. “It does not.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't mind me, just discussing the deep stuff in a fic that has elves and a talking raccoon


	60. Chapter 60

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Don't worry, all they need to do is leave via the magical galaxy tree that branches the worlds between the cosmos, there's very little that can go wrong

It takes them roughly an hour to reach the portal, achieved by blindly wandering in the direction they came in the hopes they had travelled in a straight line. Peter starts whining thirty minutes in, and if he was any younger Loki would fully expect his bottom lip to be curled into a pout. 

“Oh thank fuck!” Peter exclaims at the sight of the large black boulder. “We’re going to reach civilisation again! Loki, cancel my will, Rocket gets nothing!”

“And they used to call _me_ dramatic.” Loki says, deadpanned. “A good walk never killed anyone.”

“Speak for yourself; I’m in all these hot leathers. It’s stuffy.”

Loki looks to the sky in exasperation. “I am also in leathers, Peter, and have been since Bunla.” 

“Show off.”

The portal is how they left it, near invisible with only a faint outline giving any indication of its presence. The wind tickles against Loki’s neck as he suddenly stoops down to pick up one of the thousands of dark rocks making up the ground. Peter blinks at him.

He shrugs, tucking it away. “I promised Groot a rock.”

“Right…” Peter raises an eyebrow but makes no further comment. “How are they going to get all those people to Asgard, anyway?” He places his hands on his hips. “I can’t really imagine them all lined up, crawling along those branches.”

“I do not believe it coincidence that the intercepted jumps transport the ships here.” Loki nods to the area where the Knowhere vessel had appeared. “Whatever dark magic they are using, they are linking it to Yggdrasil to travel vast distance. It is more than likely this is how they will invade.”

“Aaaand we’re back to all your answers being terrifying.” Peter sighs, shaking his head. “Let’s go home.”

“Right.” Loki nods and raises his hands towards the portal. “Remember, we need to keep physical contact so my magic can protect us from the atmosphere.” Silently, Peter rests his palm on his shoulder, and Loki calls the portal open.

The moment his magic connects to the portal it noticeably brightens, as if clearing the mirror on the ship after a hot shower. The picture of the other side becomes sharper, revealing the purple branches of Yggdrasil bobbing to and fro.

“That doesn’t look good.”

Loki hesitates. “It is the storm. It appears to be passing, however the way those branches are moving…”

“Seems dodgy.”

“Yes, it does.”

Peter’s grip tightens on his shoulder. “What should we do?”

“As much as I hate to say it, the wisest course of action may be to wait until-”

Loki’s words are lost as a bone-rattling roar encompasses them; hot, violent air blasting in their faces. Caught completely unprepared, both Loki and Peter are sent flying backwards, tumbling painfully on the hard, uneven ground away from the rock and out into the open. 

“Holy-”

Engines clatter from the newly jumped ship, booming loudly as Loki pushes his hair away from his face, sprawled awkwardly out on his stomach. Peter fares no better, a long scrape down his cheek lightly oozing blood.

Barely noticeable above the din of the ship, there is shouting.

Turning to glance over his shoulder, Loki’s eyes widen in horror at the Ark looming behind them, the ramp extending downwards as armed Dark Elf soldiers point in their direction.

“Oh Norns…” Swallowing down the panic, he latches onto Peter’s arm, “We need to go, now!”

“What’s-”

“We have been spotted!”

The wind from the engines still rages harshly, bits of dirt and grit scratching at their faces, but they manage to scramble to their feet, edging towards the portal, hands up to protect their faces. Peter’s hand clasps over Loki’s shoulder.

Loki’s magic still glimmers across the portal’s surface, allowing him to swiftly fling it open and step through. The branch sways dangerously underfoot, and for the briefest of moments Loki stumbles back, latching onto Peter’s hand as his stomach jerks at the unexpected lurch downwards.

“Keep going!” Peter yells over the noise. “I won’t let go!”

Loki shuffles forward, arms outstretched for balance, to allow Peter through the portal.

“Are you-”

“Shit! Close it! Close it!”

Awkwardly spinning on the spot, Loki’s breathing hitches as he comes face to face with a Dark Elf.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> When I said 'don't worry', I actually meant, 'be very worried everyone is going to die'. Funny how easy it is to mix those two up!
> 
> Does anyone have any good advice for writing action scenes? I'm currently well and truly stuck on chapter 89 - It's been written and rewritten so many times now that it's getting frustrating, and I can't just skip over it for now, because certain things that happen in this scene dictate the chapters after. Ugh, why did I decide to make an action scene a vital plot point?
> 
> Also, I TOTALLY didn't just upload this chapter to my Detroit Become Human fic on accident and had to have someone point it out to me. Haha. Nope.


	61. Chapter 61

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Climb a tree, they said.
> 
> It would be fun, they said.

“Holy fuck, holy fuck, holy fuck!”

The Dark Elf looms on the other side of the portal, raising a particle rifle, the weapon brightening as the charge rises. Loki has a hand outstretched, reclaiming his magic, commanding the portal to close but even he can see that they are too close, and the portal will take just a fraction too long-

Peter blasts the Elf in the face, jerking backwards into Loki at the kick. The Elf shrieks, hands coming up to cradle the wound, dropping the gun to the ground.

The portal closes.

“We need to move.” Loki snatches Peter’s wrist, instantly turning on his heel to hurry them along the branch. “There were more behind and they will be coming through.”

Peter puffs behind him, keeping close to Loki’s heels. “What the hell happened?”

“A jump.” Loki replies curtly, gritting his teeth when his ankle wobbles as the branch bobs. “A large ship arrived, and the engines blew us out into the open in time-”

“For the Dark Elves to see.” Peter finishes. “Fuck.”

The wind around them is harsh, not strong enough to push them over the edge, but still dangerous in its own right. Underfoot, the branch dives around like a dipper, fast and unsteady. Loki keeps his grip hard on Peter’s wrist, and if he is causing any hurt Peter does not voice it. 

There is a shout behind them, and the sound of a particle rifle firing.

“Duck!” Peter yells, grabbing the back of Loki’s collar and yanking them down. The blast goes soaring overhead with a fizzle.

“Keep moving!” Loki insists.

“You concentrate on getting us back.” Peter calls, followed by the sound of a clicking blaster. “I’ll keep them off our trail.”

It is awkward, and they are completely untrained in such things, but by some miracle Loki is able to drag Peter along, guiding them hurriedly around the slippery patches of moss and steadying Peter whenever a particularly strong jerk of the branch threatens to knock his feet out from under him. In turn, Peter fires and blocks blasts, eyes completely trained on the crowd of Dark Elves chasing them.

It is rough, it is unruly, and it is completely reminiscent of Thor.

“Peter, we are nearing the trunk. We need to climb eight branches down!”

“Right,” Peter nods, face serious. “When we get there, we both attack them. Work on giving us some time to climb down.”

“Reaching the trunk in three…Two…One!”

Loki whips around, Peter kneeling to allow Loki proper access without leaning precariously around. Pulling out a throwing knife, Loki’s magic entangles against the blade as he flings it violently, the weapon wedging with sickening thud into a Dark Elf skull. With a flick on the wrist, the knife dislodges itself, flashing back into his hand.

They are good quality daggers, no point in losing them.

Peter shoots another. “That should be enough, let’s get down before they get close again!”

The mad scramble down the trunk is downright terrifying. Climb up had not been too bad, as that required glancing around above the head for the next foothold. Going _down_ , however, includes staring down at the deep abyss below, the infinite fall only one wrong-move away.

“It’s fine!” Peter insists, slightly lower than Loki and with a hand on his calf. “Next nook’s here. Keep going!”

( _Thor and Loki share a look, both wide eyed. Shock blazes in Thor’s face, his teeth gritting as he clinch to the staff like a lifeline, and slowly Loki shifts his gaze upwards towards-_ )

The wind rages.

A Dark Elf takes a shot, missing by mere inches.

“Loki!”

( _“No, Loki.”_ )

“Loki, c’mon!”

“I…” Loki wheezes, swallowing. “I am coming.”

Peter leans away from the trunk, the hand on Loki’s calf tightening as his other reaches up to shoot back at the Dark Elves. There are deep lines around his eyes.

Loki is becoming a liability, he needs to move. 

“Ok.” He whispers, sniffing and letting out a long breath. “Ok, let us leave this place.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Climbing a tree - Only the height of drama and action here, folks! 
> 
> Thank you to everyone for their writing advice last chapter, I really appreciate it. While chapter 89 is still giving me trouble, it's been a lot better since then!


	62. Chapter 62

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A chapter in which absolutely everything goes completely and totally fine. Honestly.

Earlier today Loki had never been more relieved to see a tree trunk, now it is the sight of their designated branch is enough to make his chest swirl with a light, unidentifiable emotion. Their clambering becomes more determined, both striving towards their goal. The world around Loki is still nauseating, bewildering, and if he blinks for too long a flash of Odin’s armour or Thor’s blond hair lingers in his mind’s eye, causing his limbs lock and his breath to hitch. Peter remains a steady presence beside him, the hand coaxing him back to the matters at hand.

 _Finally_ they hop down onto their branch, Loki planting both feet firmly down.

“How are we doing?” He calls over his shoulder. Navigating the much thinner branch is a lot harder when running, and the fierce wind does little to help matters. 

“Five of them left.” Peter is still blasting at the Elves behind them, relying on Loki to lead him along. “They’ve followed us down, how far until we get to the portal?”

“We were walking last time, and it took us…” Loki trails off to think. “Perhaps forty-five minutes?”

Peter makes a distressed sound. “Well, how long running? They’re getting good a blocking these shots!”

“I do not know!” Loki snaps. “How fast can you run and fire?”

“Can’t you teleport us there?”

“Not if we want enough magic to get back!”

The branch sways violently to one side, and both squawk, arms flailing in an attempt to stay upright. The movement panics the Dark Elves as well, who stop to try and keep their balance.

“How come the atmosphere isn’t harming them?” Peter all but wails. “This would be a lot easier if we didn’t have to cling to each other!”

“I did not stop to ask!” Loki huffs, marching forward, “Come on, while they are distracted.”

Their half-walk, half-run is uncomfortable. It is cumbersome and downright dangerous in the current conditions. There is a good chance that one of them will tumble over the edge, and if one goes, it means that either the other will have to catch them and fight the Dark Elves at the same time, or go it alone.

Neither is preferable. 

“Ok, ok, ok.” Peter is muttering under his breath. “We just gotta keep going. They can’t follow us forever.”

“We are nearly there.” In the distance Loki can now see the small spark of magic he had left behind, their indicator to their portal back. “Try to get them as far back as-”

With an undignified yelp, Peter’s feet slip out from under him. He goes sprawling backwards, and Loki jerks around and lunges, latching onto Peter’s arm in a death grip. The momentum from their run unsteadies their feet, and in a blur of dark leathers and blond hair Peter goes sliding over the edge.

Loki is slammed forward by the sudden weight, landing on his stomach with his own legs dangling over the other side of the branch. Peter’s fingers claw into his arm, and Loki grits his teeth harshly when he feels Peter drop an inch.

“Fucking- Jesus, fucking-”

“Hold on!” Loki yells over the babble. He now has both hands clinging to Peter. “I have you!”

Peter is glancing between him and the Dark Elves. “Dude, Princess, oh hell-”

“Can you still shoot?”

“What?”

“Aim your stupid blaster!”

With a frustrated shout, Peter begins to shoot once more, leathers flapping around him ( _violently in the wind, muscles straining, holding on for dear life_ ) and mouth a grimace.

The branch is thin enough that if Loki brought his legs forward, he would easily see his feet and ankles. This means, when he slowly brings them back up onto the branch to try and give himself some leverage, Loki is _very much aware_ that one strong gust of wind will send them both cascading into the abyss. 

He pulls, breathing hard, desperately trying to bring Peter high enough so that he can grab onto the branch. Peter is still firing, aiming as many hits as he can against the Dark Elves. 

“You will not fall, Peter. I promise, you will not-”

“Behind you!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The boys aren't out of the woods yet!! (Yes, I've been sitting on that one for ages)


	63. Chapter 63

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cliffhanger? What cliffhanger? I TOTALLY didn't leave you guys on a cliffhanger

They are out of time.

Peter screams, “Loki!” 

He is too low, Loki cannot let go of him yet or he shall be forever lost falling between the branches of the universe. But a shadow has fallen over him, and Peter’s eyes are as wide and scared as Loki has ever seen them, but he made a promise, and by the Norns Loki _is going to keep it._

With a roar, Loki swings out a leg, knocking into the nearest Dark Elf and sending them to the ground. Letting go with one hand, he grabs for a dagger and plunges it straight into the chest cavity, unblinking at the blood which spurts over his hand and the gargled, drowning yell. Peter fires once more, hitting the next as Loki kicks the body off the branch-

(“ _Loki, no, don’t-_ ”)

The remaining four pile on him at once, two raising curved swords high to swing at him, screeching as they do, while the third and fourth whir their particle rifles into life, pointing it straight at Peter’s face.

“Oh _shit!_ ”

Loki will not be able to dodge, not while holding Peter, and wielding daggers one handed will not save them from their respective blows.

“Loki!” Peter struggles, twisting in Loki’s grip. “Let me g-” The rifles shoot and Peter swings, blocking one with his blaster as the other nails him directly in the hip. “Argh!”

The swords swing down, and without any thought Loki abandons his dagger in favour of the sword on his back, the black metal clanging loudly against the weapons as they clash just inches above his head.

“Peter! Hang on!”

“Trying!”

Pushing the two Elves back with a powerful swing, Loki jams it forward harshly. It hits one in the stomach, and it howls with pain as Loki pushes it deeper, breathing hard when he pulls it back. The Dark Elf doubles over and staggers, its foot slipping over the edge of the branch before vanishing over the side.

( _Thor’s grip visibly tightens on Gungnir, as if that will help, will stop Loki from-_ )

The other Elf jumps out of harm’s way as Loki swings again, easily dodging the blow but miscalculating the distance between it and those firing at Peter. Hitting a patch of moss, it trips head over heels, catching another with its arm. Taken by complete surprise, there is no time for the other Elf to regain balance or prepare for the sudden weight, and both go falling into the abyss. 

( _He sees the moment Odin realises, the moment Odin understands what Loki is about to do-_ )

The final Elf steps back, looking from Loki, to Peter, and back again. It is out of range for the sword, and Peter is too preoccupied with holding his battered side to aim his blaster. With slow, deliberate movements, the Elf aims the particle rifle at Loki.

Obviously, it has forgotten about Loki’s daggers.

It roars as the blade embeds itself into its eye, dropping the rifle as Loki sheaths the sword, reaching down to tug Peter up and onto the branch.

“Oh God, ow-”

“Get up, get up, get up!”

The final Elf has not gone down, and the portal is within sight. They shall have to worry about Peter’s wound later, but for now they only have the briefest of windows to escape.

“Shit! Fuck!”

Tucking his arms under Peter’s armpits, Loki forcefully pulls him to his feet, not even pausing to steady him before grabbing his wrist and running them forward. The wind howls.

“Skeletor’s coming!”

Sparing the briefest of glances over his shoulder, Loki spots his dagger being flung into the void, blood oozing down the Elf’s mask. It is breathing heavily, and giving chase at a full sprint.

“ _Norns_ …”

Reaching out a hand, Loki pushes all his magic at the portal, making an awkward one armed spiral as he runs. Sparks fly, mirroring his hand, and slowly an image begins to appear on the other side. Loki barely even blinks at it.

“Get ready to jump, Peter!”

Peter yelps a squawky, “What?”

Flinging himself forward, Loki tosses then through the portal, dragging Peter through behind him. The air around them shifts, completely losing all sense of wind in exchange for the familiar, recycled quality of a ship’s oxygen supply. They land, skidding painfully on the metal panels of the floor, and quick as a flash Loki releases Peter and twists, snapping his magic back towards him. 

With a crackle the portal vanishes from the air.

A head goes flying, the mask making a dull _thunk_ sound when it hits the floor, rolling and dribbling dark blood in a long, winding trail. 

There is a long silence, Loki’s breathing raspy and his heartbeat thudding wildly in his ears.

And then…

“Dang it!” Kraglin snaps. “We just cleaned up Harper!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Poor Kraggles, better go get the mop and bucket!!
> 
> I feel like from this chapter onwards my writing gets better again. This whole mini-adventure was really hard to write, mainly because it's travel and explanation, and those don't do much for interesting story telling. It was vital it happened, but things really took a beating because of it.


	64. Chapter 64

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Let's have a moment's break after all that mayhem...

They are going to Asgard.

It is two days since their little adventure to Svartalfheim. Peter has been patched up, his injuries consisting of a burn mark on his hip, slightly battered ribs, and dark bruises on his arm where Loki had grabbed him. The scratch he gained on his cheek has scarred over, and will likely leave a small white line against his tanned skin for at least a few months. Peter is sore, and makes a point of noisily hissing a little whenever he is forced to move, but is otherwise ok. 

They are going to Asgard.

It had taken them an hour to relay the entire tale to the rest of the team, plus Yondu and Kraglin. It had been strange, sitting quietly in a shut away room, discussing in seriousness what their discoveries would mean and their next moves. Growing up, the explanations of adventure had always been accompanies by roaring fires, mead, and a large, obsequious crowd. 

They are going to Asgard.

They have given themselves two days. One is for Peter and Loki to recuperate and regain their strength, and the other so the team can restock the ship. While they do not need a huge number of supplies to travel to Asgard, and once there they shall likely be given provisions, their vessel is in need of items anyway, foodstuffs and maintenance, so it is wise to stock up now. At the current moment in time, Peter, Gamora and Drax are savaging the markets while Rocket sees to some engine work on a lower level. 

_They are going to Asgard._

And Loki does not know how he feels about that.

The last time Loki was on Asgard (Weeks? Months? Years ago?) things had been…Bad. And that was when it was put in the lightest sense. Who knows how much time has passed since his fall, since he was revealed a Frost Giant, since he lied to Thor and tried to destroy another Realm. Public opinions are a wavering thing, easily manipulated one way or another. There had been no hiding of his actions, all of Asgard would have seen, or at the very least heard the destruction of the Bifrost. That was the connection between the Nine, between trading, economy, and between relations. Without it, Asgard was alone, and many businesses would have surely lived and died because of his actions.

“Groot likes his rock.”

Blinking slowly, Loki turns his gaze from the window he has settled beside, watching the outside world. They are still docked, and from this angle he is able to watch people coming and going through the ship port. 

“That is good. I had promised him a souvenir.” Loki ponders a moment. “Though Svartalfheim does not offer a lot in that regard.”

“He likes the severed head too.” Rocket wanders over, hopping up onto the bench Loki has settled himself on. Oil is smudged over his fur.

“ _That_ one was unintentional.” He scrunches his nose. “How long does he plan to keep it?”

Rocket chuckles, “We’re tossing it out the airlock one we’ve left Knowhere. Making a thing of it.”

“I think I shall pass on that event.”

Rocket laughs and they settle into a companionable silence. 

Yondu had originally wanted the Ravagers to join the team in travelling to Asgard, however Loki had steered them away from that idea. Asgard was a noble place, but also prideful and did not except handouts with much grace. Having two ships, one incredibly large and full of brash, straight talking pirates, would not go down well. 

Plus…Well, Yondu was _blue skinned and red eyed_. That was a recipe for disaster.

To settle them some, they had ensured everyone had the contact details for the Eclector, and Kraglin’s personal number. Peter had to assist Loki in tapping that into his wristpad, as Gamora had already added all their names and information into the device when Loki received it, meaning he did not have the chance to learn how. 

“I never got to thank you.” Loki starts, not looking when Rocket turns his head. “You translated the datapads into runes for me, correct?”

Rocket shrugs. “Figured it would come in handy. It had been a pain when you couldn’t read anything. Did it remotely from the med bay while waiting for the poison to be analysed.”

“I had thought runes were not available in space?”

“Haha, yeah,” Rocket flashes him a guilty grin. “I’d kinda found this whole rune translation website, like, three weeks after you joined us? Apparently the idea of Vikings has reached space, and there are some fanatics.” He frowns and then points at Loki. “Don’t discuss it with the Collector.”

“I shall take your word for it. Why did you not say anything?”

“I found it funny?”

Loki raises an eyebrow, unamused, and Rocket bursts out in a splutter. “Alright, alright. I changed it eventually, didn’t I?”

“I suppose you did.” Loki sighs, humour melting away as he adds. “It is a good thing you did; otherwise I would not have found that website.”

Rocket’s smile fades, and he glances back outside. “So, Asgard, huh?”

“Yes.” Loki says, faintly. 

“What’s it like?”

Loki peeks over through the corner of his eye. “You have seen all those pictures.”

“Yeah,” Rocket tosses his head back and forth. “But I wanna hear what it’s _like_ , living there and shit. Figured you know, it _was_ your home.”

“Asgard…” Loki swallows. “I feel that it has long ceased to be my home.”

Rocket scoffs. “Well, you’re going through hell and back to protect it then, Princess.”

“I am Crowned Prince, it is my duty-”

“Everyone on Asgard thinks you’re dead.” Rocket interrupts, forcefully but not harshly. There is something gleaming within his eye, something Loki has not seen before. It is a strange emotion, oddly mature and weirdly knowing. “There is literally nothing stopping you from turning around and walking away. Like shit it’s anything to do with duty.”

Loki studies him, cocking his head and narrowing his eyes. Rocket sucks in a sudden breath, wilting under Loki’s scrutiny for probably the first time since Loki has been here, and turns to face the window.

“I…” Loki starts, but then thinks better of it. There is a twist of vulnerability within Rocket’s expression, and perhaps, after months of living together, they are finally talking as equals. Instead of snapping back defensively, as is his impulse, Loki switches his reply to, “There is truth in that. Asgard is where I grew up, where I was educated, where I was taught to fight.”

“Where you laughed, cried,” Rocket shakes his head, insisting, “Mingled with people, had fun! I ain’t blind, you left on fuck awful terms, but it was your home, of course you’re gonna protect it!”

“Are you the same for your own home?” The question is asked innocently enough, but Loki quickly back peddles when Rocket’s shoulders stiffen. “Apologies, that was forward of me.”

“ _Apologies, that was forward of me_.” Rocket mimics, but unlike weeks before there is no venom in it. “You’re so fucking posh sometimes, Princess.”

Loki chuckles. “Well, I do not imagine Odin would have been pleased if the Crowned Prince went around swearing up a storm.”

“ _That_ I’d pay to see!”

“I am Groot?” 

They both turn, surprised, to find Groot standing in the centre of the open doorway. The room is dark, with the only light source coming from the wide window, casting long shadows over the plant and making him appear amazingly small. 

“Hey buddy.” Rocket greets, and the plant starts to scamper over.

“Uh-uh, no.” Loki shakes his head. “If you wish the join us then _that_ needs to be left at the door, thank you.”

Groot blinks big eyes up at him. “I am Groot?”

“No. It is starting to smell.” He says firmly. “And I will only end up having to hold it. That thing is _still_ leaking fluid everywhere.”

“I _am_ Groot!”

“Watch it.” Rocket crosses his arms. “Do as he says.”

“I am Groot…” Groot grumbles, backtracking to dump the severed head by the door. He gestures to it pointedly, making a face that clearly says, _‘happy?’_

“Thank you.” Loki praises, “It will not go anywhere. You shall have it back afterwards.”

Groot quickly crosses the room, using his vines to clamber up onto the seat. He barely pauses for breath before jumping onto Loki’s lap and then crawling up his leathers.

“Hello, Groot.”

“I am Groot.”

“Again?”

“I am Groot!”

“Ok,” Loki rolls his eyes, reaching up to brush forward some of his hair. “If you must.”

“You’re gonna spoil him.” Rocket huffs watching as Groot starts to braid Loki’s hair. “He should charge.”

“I am not exactly going around requesting this.” 

Outside, an argument has started up between two people, their voices high and fierce and raw. Loki turns his gaze to watch them, not moving his head so Groot does not go flying. Rocket glances in their direction as well, his tail drifting around behind his back as he huffs at the sight. 

“Pitiful.” He comments.

“Indeed. A fruitless confrontation, so very petty.”

Punches are thrown, catching the attention of others who crowd around to watch. One is bleeding from the nose, and the other spits out a tooth. 

“What morons.”

“They are exactly that, letting themselves get into such a state. I mean, really…”

“What a fucking waste of time and energy.”

They have each other in a headlock, arms and legs flailing like beached fish. Each sport large gashes and the dust of the ground swirls around them. People are chanting, egging them on. 

“How very beneath us.”

“You took the words right outta my mouth, Princess.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Groot, the cutest bundle in the galaxy! 
> 
> Just not when he's dragging around a severed head like some kind of gooey security blanket...


	65. Chapter 65

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Onward to our next adventure!

“Right.” Gamora stands on the bridge, narrowing her eyes as she peers out the window at the area around the ship. “I can’t see anyone.”

“Nothing on the radar.” Rocket pipes up from his chair, tapping on several screens too fast for Loki to have a hope of keeping up. “Quill?”

“Nada on the radio frequencies.”

“Na-”

“Nothing, Drax! It means ‘nothing’!”

“Loki, think this will work?” Gamora turns, her hands on her hips as she regards him. Loki stands further back on the bridge, behind all the chairs but in clear view of the window. 

He nods. “Yes, as long as no one sees, we should be able to access Yggdrasil unnoticed.”

“Remind me why we’re activating the Sword of Certain Death again?” Rocket pipes up, still watching the screens. “If we get a tornado in here I ain’t cleaning it up.”

“The magic of the sword should be enough to create an opening into Yggdrasil.” Loki explains. “We do not have the sorcery from the Dark Elves this time to help create it, so I need another power supply. What I will be doing should not trigger the defence mechanism.”

Drax grunts, standing beside Loki. “Will you be using it to open a portal to Asgard as well?”

“Nah, those portals are already there, right Princess?” Peter beams at him over his shoulder, twisting slightly in his chair by the controls. “See? I do pick up on things.”

“Yes, your education in the ways of the Nine is progressing.” Loki quips back. “But you still have much to learn.”

Peter does a mock and highly exaggerated salute. “Yes, Master Splinter.”

The reference is lost on Loki but he lets it slide as Gamora rolls her eyes and moves towards him. Groot is perched on her shoulder and, thankfully, without the severed head of a Dark Elf, though he was not all too happy with that fact, judging by the pout on his lips.

“Well, we’re ready when you are.” 

“Right.”

They are out in open space once more, a whole jump away from Knowhere and hidden from prying opportunists. The last thing they want is to draw attention to the situation and give the Dark Elves more willing recruits.

Unsheathing the sword, Loki holds it forward in one hand, laying the other across the blade. Last time, when he had sprung the sword’s defences, he had been forcing his magic into it in an effort to get a reaction. Here, however, Loki is merely channelling the magic, encouraging it to reach outwards and to mingle with his own by its own validation. 

It sings in response to his callings, lifting freely from under his fingertips and trickling like dust across the bridge, out the window, as if the glass was not even there, and into the darkness of space. Loki’s magic follows, collecting before the window is a mass of green.

Loki spins his free hand in a spiral, silently reaching for the branches of Yggdrasil and beckoning those nearest towards him. Sparks snap like a clicking lighter, following his spiral pattern as the connection is made and slowly opens up into a portal.

His chest feels tight, his breath hitching as he fights to keep the portal in place. It is larger than before, needing to engulf the entire ship rather than just two people, and as he concentrates Loki feels Drax brace his shoulders.

“Now?” Peter asks.

Loki grits his teeth. “No…”

The image on the other side is still blurred as if a fogged mirror, and to go now would be reckless. With great care, Loki encourages the magic of the sword into his own, twisting it amongst his. Almost instantly the pressure within him subsides, and Loki takes a slow outwards breath as the image clears and sharpens, revealing a familiar purple branch.

“Now.”

The ship lurches violently forward, their engines whirling manically as they dive through, the bottom of the ship squeaking as it lightly scrapes the branch. 

“Hold it, Princess.” Rocket calls. “Checking everything’s through.”

Peter nods. “My side's good.”

“Everything up top is!” Gamora calls from somewhere; Loki does not turn to look.

“Right, we’re good, Princess!”

In a flash, Loki drops his magic away, calming his breathing as it sinks back under his skin. The sword’s own quickly follows suit, returning into the weapon and making the embedded green of the blade glow faintly before simmering down. 

There is a pause as everyone stares agape at the tree.

Peter flashes a grin at Rocket. “I know, right?”

“It’s fucking _freaky!"_ Rocket exclaims.

“That’s what I said!”

“Boys…” Gamora chastises, but her tone is not really in the reprimand. Clearing her throat, she turns to Loki. “Where now?”

“Fly us to the trunk.” Loki nods in the direction. “Once there we locate the portal to Asgard.”

“No moss the time.” Peter comments.

“When you called it a ‘World Tree’,” Drax says, moving over to the window. “I did not realise you meant it was an actual tree. I thought it was a saying.”

Rocket barks a laugh. “Nope, this time he was being very literal!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Poor Drax, he'll get there one day.
> 
> (Drax, somewhere in the background, "Get where?")


	66. Chapter 66

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A raccoon, a half-planet, half-human man, a tree, an assassin, a vengeful brute and a frost giant go sailing by a world tree in the place between galaxies.
> 
> When did this become 'normal' in my life?

“My Kamaria would love this.”

Loki blinks, turning his gaze to Drax at the sudden statement. Peter chatters to Rocket and Gamora behind them, Groot intercutting the conversation at various points. There is a strange buzz of excitement in the ship, one Loki has not felt before, but both he and Drax had drifted away from the team as time went by, choosing instead to stand to one side by the main window.

Within the safety of a ship, with a solid surface beneath his feet and four walls around him, Yggdrasil feels a lot less ominous the second time around.

“Would she?”

Drax nods. “Yes, she loved to climb the trees near our home.”

Loki glances back to Yggdrasil, contemplating. “It is quite the climb.” He offers. “One could spend an entire lifetime journeying from bottom to top.”

Drax remains silent, eyes distant and glazed. Inclining his head a touch, Loki places his hands behind his back and meanders back to the others.

“-And they lived in the sewers.” Peter finishes proudly, his face the same satisfactory grin as Thor’s after attempting to tell a particularly complicated tale. More often than not their guests would just nod and clap out of respect for their Prince rather than anything else.

Rocket frowns at him. “Why the hell did they live in the sewers?”

“So Shredder wouldn’t get them!” 

“A shredder?” Gamora puzzles, completely unimpressed and fiddling with a knife. 

“Not a shredder, _the_ Shredder.”

“What’s the difference?”

“Everything!”

Loki glances at each of them. “I feel as if I have walked in on a very strange discussion.”

“Four words, Loki.” Peter points at him, jabbing his finger with each. “Teenage. Mutant. Ninja. Turtles.”

“What is a ‘ninja’?”

“It’s like…” Peter thinks for a moment, chewing the inside of his cheek. “A warrior, who uses martial arts and samurai swords and wears all black.”

“Peter…” Loki sighs, crossing his arms, “That clears up absolutely nothing.”

“Welcome to our world.” Rocket huffs. “He was singing earlier, be thankful you missed it.”

“Hey!”

“A tragedy, I am sure.”

“I am Groot!”

“Sure, Groot, I _will_ do it again!” Peter sucks in a breath. “ _TEENAGE-_ ”

“No!” Leaping forward, Gamora abandons her knife to slam her hand over Peter’s mouth. “The first time was enough! Groot, don’t encourage him.”

“I am Groot…”

“Yes, you were. Now, we’re just going to fly-” Gamora yelps and snaps her hand back. “Did you just _lick_ me?”

Rocket sneers, disgusted. “What an animal.” 

“Completely uncivilised.” Loki drones, raising an eyebrow.

“I am _Groot_.”

Gamora wipes her hand on Peter’s shoulder, who laughs unapologetically, his eyes bright with humour. “Come on, I ain’t poisonous or-”

Drax’s voice, high and alarmed, cuts him off. “We have company!” 

Everyone snaps to attention, the light atmosphere dying instantly as they fallow Drax’s pointed hand. They have come into view of the tree trunk, however they have also come into view, Loki realises with widening eyes, of five Arks.

“The fuck are those?” Rocket asks, both mystified yet concerned.

“The ships of the Dark Elves,” Loki says, the sheath squeezing around his chest like a snake. “They must have expected us to return.” 

Of _course_ they did. They would have been stupid not to. The Dark Elves would have been planning this for months, maybe even years, there is no way they were going to allow anyone to access Asgard through Yggdrasil. After finding out that two people who got away, it was only natural that they would have set up guards to stop them returning.

Sitting up further in his chair, Peter reaches around to buckle himself in.

Drax follows his example, climbing into his own chair while Gamora takes hers, passing Groot to Rocket.

“Loki,” Peter calls, tone now calm, serious, tapping a hand against the back of his chair. “Hold on here, I need you by me to navigate, and you don’t have a chair.”

“Preparing the guns.” Rocket says, flicking on a number of switches and opening up a holographic screen.

“No!” Loki latches onto the two handlebars on the shoulders of the chair. “No firing! You cannot use those here.”

The expression Rocket shoots him is stressed and tense. “What?”

“You will not be damaging a simple tree,” Loki explains hurriedly. “You will be destroying universes, galaxies, civilisations. Yggdrasil may appear like a tree, but it is the branches between the cosmos.”

“Yep, can vouch for that.” Peter adds.

“Great,” Growling, Rocket flicks all the screens away, his tail swishing violently. Groot clings to his fur. “Then what the fuck are we meant to do?”

The weapons on the Arks glow, readying to fire.

“Peter,” Slowly, Loki fixes Peter with a look, “How good is your flying ability?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And you guys thought something bad was going to happen...Haha...
> 
> What? The drama tag IS there for a reason!


	67. Chapter 67

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hooray for Asgard!
> 
> Less hooray for everything else!

Peter’s flying skills are absolutely abysmal. 

“Peter!” Loki shouts as he clings onto the chair for dear life, trying to keep his feet firm in their placement and bending his knees with each roll of the ship. “Your flying skills are absolutely abysmal!”

“Thanks!”

“That is _not a compliment!”_

“Let me-” Rocket starts.

“No!”

“Boys!” Gamora yells, rocking violently in her seat as the ship is flung around with as much grace as a rock in a landslide. “Not the time!”

The ship lurches as another hit lands on one of the wings, the engines whirling furiously in response. Smoke billows in great puffs from the battered limb.

Rocket grits his teeth, yelling loudly, almost accusingly, “Princess, I though you said we couldn’t fire?”

“We cannot!”

“They seem pretty happy to!”

Loki opens his mouth to reply only to be thrusted forward as they bang into a branch, his chest thumping into the back of the chair and knocking the air out of him. He groans, hissing away the jab of pain that flutters across his rib cage, breathing through it. Oddly, this is rather similar to facing Thor in spar.

As he blinks the stars out of his eyes, he catches sight of a body moving passed. “Drax?”

“Where are you going?” Gamora shouts, peering up from the screens around her.

“To get rid of them.” Drax replies, lifting one hand up to suggest his reason is obvious. With that he vanishes down the ladder.

“That idiot!” Rocket exclaims, Groot bouncing to and fro on his shoulder. “What’s he doing?”

Peter is tapping on a hologram while trying to steer the ship. “I think he’s-”

Loki’s eyes widen, and he yelps a strangled, “Up!” He lurches over Peter’s shoulder, grabbing onto the controls and yanking them back. The ship bobs before tilting and rocketing upwards in a dead straight line, odds and ends clattering from the front of the bridge to band and crash their way passed the team. 

“Holy fuck!”

“I _am_ Groot!”

“Look where you’re going!” Rocket shrieks.

They zoom up Yggdrasil’s trunk, the bottom of the ship scraping against the bark, and within seconds Loki’s feet are slipping from the lack of grip, leaving him dangling awkwardly from Peter’s chair.

Snapping to attention, Peter scrambles to take back the controls. “Sorry! Sorry!” His voice is high and pitched. “Fuck, Loki where’re we going? Where’s the portal?”

“One moment…” Loki puffs, adjusting his grip and pulling himself back to Peter’s side. It is probably only the adrenaline of the moment that allows him to do so. “Um, let me see.” His hair has fallen into his face, and he quickly flicks it away to scan the branches.

“Anytime Princess!”

“One down!” Gamora reports. “Drax destroyed the engine, but he’s getting overwhelmed out there!”

Loki’s eyes dart, desperately searching. “I think we are on the wrong side. Peter, can you- Ah!”

The ship flings itself to one side, cutting off anything Loki had hoped to say as his feet skid from under him. Thank the Norms Ghilda made his boots sturdy, otherwise by now the soles would have been worn down to his feet.

“Wait,” Peter makes a desperate grab for Loki’s shoulder, shaking him violently. “Wait, there. Loki! There!” He points out a portal. “Isn’t that it?”

Blinking, Loki straightens. “Yes! Yes that is it!”

“Then get us there!” Gamora stands, waving away her screens to dart across the room, somehow managing this gracefully despite the terrible angle. “I’m going to get Drax back in!”

“Back in?” Rocket squawks, flicking on an image on his hologram. It is a video feed, and as Peter charges them forward Loki catches a brief glimpse.

He blanks. “Drax is _outside?”_

“That maniac!” Rocket is spluttering, “He’s gonna get killed!”

“Loki!” Peter snaps. “Portal! Open it!”

Sucking in a breath, Loki pushes away the thoughts of Drax to reach towards it, surging his magic desperately from his hand and outwards, slamming it into the portal. The surface of the portal flairs as if it is jumping at the sudden onslaught.

“It’s too small!” Rocket yells unhelpfully. “We’re gonna get there too quick and it’s too small!” 

“I _am_ Groot!”

Loki is all too aware of that fact. Straining, sweat bleeds across on his forehead as he desperately tries to speed the process, struggling to stay steady with only one hand on the chair. The portal shifts and fights the assault, trying to keep its original form against Loki’s magic forcing it to expand, to grow to accommodate the ship. 

“We’re going to be reaching it in ten!” Peter’s voice gains another pitch.

“I am trying!”

It is becoming difficult to breath, and the harsh recycled air scrapes against Loki’s throat.

“Six…Five…

Rocket stands. “Quill, I have an idea! Give me the controls!”

“Four- What? No way! Three…”

Completely letting go of the chair, Loki reaches out his other hand, his firsts clenching as he pulls-

“Trust me, Quill!”

“Two…One!”

With a roar, the controls in front of Rocket burst into life just as they hit the portal, and with an audible smack Rocket kills the power of the entire ship. There is a groan and a shudder, and the lights instantly die as the wings are brought in to the sides, shifting to the normal resting position when they are docked on a planet.

“Hold on!” Someone shouts, Loki cannot tell who.

The momentum from their crazed flight soars them straight through with mere inches to spare, and the second they pass the portal’s edges Rocket is firing the engines back into life, the machine protesting loudly enough to shake the ship. The wings burst back out, but are instantly battered by the sides of the cave, sparks flying as they half-fly, half-skid through the narrow passage.

“Are we all through?” Peter is shouting, pressing all sorts of buttons. “Is Drax through?”

“Wait-“ Rocket holds up a hand, watching the screen. “Yes! Yes he’s through! Princess, close the-”

Loki does not need instruction. With a pained gasp he drops the fierce manipulation, not requiring seeing the portal to know it has instantly reacted, snapping back into its smaller form and spitting out his magic. His chest heaves.

“Where the hell are we?”

“Keep going.” Loki wheezes, struggling to keep his balance, “And keep steering, in a moment we’ll-” Before he can even finish the sentence they burst out the cliff, rocks spurting around them from the force. As they skip into open air the back of the ship dips, tossing Peter and Rocket against the backs of their chairs. It is only with luck that Loki manages to cling to Peter’s seat once more.

“The fuck was that?” Rocket exclaims, Groot having now wrapped vines tightly around his shoulders. As a video pops up he yelps. “We have visitors!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Loki, arriving on Asgard with a gang of criminals and killers in a ship that's on fire and with Dark Elves on his tail: "You're saviour is here!"


	68. Chapter 68

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Oh honey, I'm home!!

The back of the ship is alive with mayhem. 

While none of the Arks made through the portal and into Asgard, Drax is still, for whatever maniac reason, hanging out the ship. He dangles there like a piece of bait on an overly enthusiastic fisherman’s line, swinging wildly as he throws punches with a Kurse that has somehow latched onto him during the chaos.

Gamora can be found mid-battle in the loading bay, dagger in one hand and blaster in another, blood splattered across her face as she slashes elves left, right, and centre. 

Lady Sif would adore her.

“When did they get in?” Peter yells.  


Rocket unclasps his seatbelt, reaching under the seat to pull out a blaster. “Some of those Arks got pretty close, probably jumped on just as we got through. I’m gonna help, Peter, _don’t crash!_ Groot, stick close to me!”

“I am Groot!”

“Rocket, wait-” Loki cuts himself off with a cry, “Turn left! Peter, turn left!”

With a yelp to rival all others, Peter jerks the controls, barely missing the opposite cliff. “Sweet fuck!”

The ship rattles, clattering through the sky as if some monstrous comet. Something mechanical is screeching at the maltreatment, and it does not skip Loki’s notice that Peter is struggling to keep the vessel under control.

“Keep going left.” He instructs, adjusting his stance to steady himself as the ship rocks around from the fighting below.

Outside, the vast ocean surrounding Asgard gleams in the sunlight, people on boats pausing in their work to stare at the ship blotching the otherwise perfectly cloudless sky. Glancing out the side of the window, Loki blinks.

“Are you aware we have a wing on fire?”

“What?” Peter follows his gaze and groans. “Shit, we must have knocked an engine in the cave.”

“Can we make it without crashing?”

“Probably?”

There is a roar from below, followed by Rocket’s bellow of, “You motherfuckers wanna _play?”_

“I am going to die.” Loki mutters, closing his eyes, “Among some of the biggest idiots in the galaxy.”

The ship splutters, stuttering threateningly. The engines whine, a mournful call much akin to pup which has been removed from its mother. In an odd pang of emotion, sympathy for the poor thing flitters through Loki’s chest. 

Peter makes an excited sound, catching Loki’s attention. “Woah dude! What’s that?”

“The Bifrost. Aim for it, then we can-”

Something below explodes in a beautifully terrifying blast of deep orange, tilting the wings drastically to one side and swinging the ship madly off course. In an instant they are careering dangerously, swooping around over the Bifrost and up. Sparks fly, screens and holograms flickering as Peter battles the controls. Gamora yells from below and smoke starts rising into the room.

“It’s not responding!” Peter panics, the ship veering majorly to hurtle over the shoreline and above the crowded city. 

Drax howls like a bilgesnipe, and something crashes with a heavy ‘ _thunk_ ’.

“If we go down now we will land in the town!” Leaping around the chair Loki grabs for the controls, his hands and Peter’s practically indenting the material as they struggle to bring the ship under control. “People will be killed!”

“I’m trying, I’m trying!”

“Try to aim up!”

With as much strength as they can muster they pull backwards, Peter shouting with effort, and for a split second Loki fears they will, instead, snap off the controls and bring the vessel down in a ball of fire and metal. The ship makes a distressed sound, as if all the bolts are jarring within their holes. 

“We’re gonna hit that thing!”

“That thing? What thing?” Twisting, Loki squeaks, “That thing!”

Rising from the earth like golden petals, the Palace defences slowly begin to engulf the building, the magic electric, powerful, and directly in their path.

Peter stares, mouth gaping. “What is it?”

“Palace defences! If we hit them, we are done for!”

“Shit!”

The defences are too high, there is no way they will be able to turn the ship in time, or get high enough that they could skirt over the top. They cannot drop down or else they will blast through the many houses of the city below. Without anything to stop them, it would be a massacre.

For a fraction of a second, Loki’s jaw locks, teeth jamming together and binding his tongue. The ship stumbles through the air, her black trail suffocating the air behind them.

“Loki!” Peter’s faffing with his seatbelt, desperate fingers shaky, useless against the buckle, “We need to go! We need to-”

Sucking in a breath, Loki shouts, loud enough to break his voice hoarse, “Heimdall! Lower the defences, now!”

Peter stares at him. “Heim-”

“We are not an enemy, we mean no harm! I-” The ship stalls for the briefest of moments, but it is enough to make him stumble. Peter lunges for the controls, and Loki staggers back onto his feet, his blood turning to ice as they fly ever closer. “Take them down!” He orders frantically.

“We’ll crash into the Palace!” Peter tries, his face a shade paler, “People could-”

“It’s less people than the city!” Loki reasons sharply. They are running out of time. “Heimdall, now!” 

They are out of time, the barrier is too close and they are flying too fast. Peter squeaks, shrinking back in his chair and bringing his arms up to shield his face, a tight grimace across his face. Loki flinches back, mouth falling silently open as they speed forward-

( _He falls past galaxies, tumbling through them as if they were autumn leaves. They burst around him, great puffs of stars and dust and compounds his tongue fails to name. His magic crackles, weak and helpless, unable to save him from this nauseating fate, from the horrors of the fall-_ ) 

His breath catches roughly in the back of his throat as the shield abruptly vanishes, allowing them to fly straight through. The air flows like gravel, scratching at his windpipe.

Peter opens his eyes and practically bounces in his seat. “Oh thank fuck!” He celebrates. Upon seeing Loki’s expression, however, it takes all of three seconds for him to realise exactly what is going to happen next. “Oh sweet God!”

“Brace yourself!” 

And with that the ship gives a groan, a splutter, and a crack, before careering straight into the Palace walls.

The metal bends under the sudden collision, screaming and morphing under brick and stone and debris, unable to withhold under the weighty might of Asgard’s Royal Palace. Rubble sprays in every conceivable direction, blooming around them as they smack through one wall after another, each new hit spinning the vessel.

The window smashes, glass scattering as if rodents, tickling against bare skin as they roll upside down and then back again, loose items mini missiles within the bridge, toppling and clattering and breaking.

The iron taste of blood blooms within Loki’s mouth, sparking the realisation that he is biting hard on his tongue. Feet unable to hold him steady, hand no longer able to grip onto the back of Peter’s chair, Loki jerks forward, collapsing to his knees only to be lifted by an invisible force into the air. As soon as the floor vanishes from beneath him, he is falling onto it again, fingers failing to find a grip on the surface to anchor himself down.

And then, just abruptly as the whole thing began, it stops.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I have the plot of this fic written at the end of the massive word document I’ve been using, which gets updated as I go along, and for ages I've had:
> 
> “Infiltrate palace? Crash ship INTO palace?”
> 
> ...You can see which one idea won.


	69. Chapter 69

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Reunion time! Now will this be more Jeremy Kyle or Jerry Springer?

To describe the aftermath as ‘peaceful’ would be a blatant lie, however, it is not exactly chaotic, either.

Unsure as to whether he is _actually_ blacked out or if it was a dream, Loki opens his eyes to find himself sprawled on his front, his arms around his head and legs skew behind him. His clothes are scuffed but intact, and Loki allows himself a moment to mutter a small apology for every doubting Ghilda’s tailoring skills. Truly she is a woman of great craftsmanship.

The battered vessel groans around him, sparks flittering from broken machines and gadgets. The whole bridge echoes with the sound of failing electricity. The lights go off, then on, and then off again, before dying with a final splutter.

“Peter?” Loki croaks, spitting out a mouthful of blood. He coughs, pushing himself up on his elbows. “Peter?”

“Loki?” Peter sounds dazed, lost, but very much alive. “We’re here.”

Chuckling weakly, Loki pushes himself onto his knees, hissing as he does. Peter is still, miraculously, buckled into his seat, a couple of scratches littering his face and clothes slightly burnt, but otherwise unharmed. 

“Yes, I did notice.”

As Loki climbs to his feet, raising a hand to his head to push away his undoubtedly knotted hair away from his face, Peter frees himself from his chair, staggering over to the ladder.

“Guys?” He calls, squatting down. “Everyone ok?”

“Careful.” Loki warns, slowly manoeuvring around twisted metal to join him. Glass crunches under his boots. “Do we know if all the Dark Elves were vanquished?”

“Uh…” Peter blinks at him before turning back to the ladder. “Hey, if you’re a Dark Elf, say ‘aye’!”

“I am Groot!”

“Groot?” Loki kneels down. “Groot? Are you ok? Are the others with you?”

“I am _Groot_ …”

Sharing a look, Peter waves a hand at the ladder. “After you, Princess.”

The loading bay is a mess. Boxes are smashed and upturned, their contents flung into every conceivable corner of the craft. Blast marks litter the walls, and training equipment lay broken and discarded across the floor. Bodies of Dark Elves pool blood, arms and legs snapped, and the large loading bay doors are bent awkwardly. The way they have been battered only allows one curled corner for escape. 

Groot hurries over the carnage, clambering up Peter’s leg and wrapping vines around his shoulders.

“Hey, Groot, easy,” Peter sooths, patting the plant’s back. 

Loki glances around. “Where are-”

Something slams into the ground outside the ship, shaking the earth with a _crack_. Peter stumbles, Loki lunging a hand out to steady him. Bits of rubble tumble from the ceiling, making electrical wires hanging down sway gently. 

“Holy fuck!” Rocket squawks from beyond the doors, “I want one of those!”

Sharing a glance, Peter and Loki begin to carefully pick their way across the room, hopping over bodies and debris, dipping under the wires. There is a pause of silence outside, and then-

“Who are you?” A voice growls, one which Loki is _very_ well acquainted with. “Speak plainly. You do not want to seek out my wrath.”

Bile rises in his throat.

Breathe in, breathe out. 

This is fine. This is what he needs. They need Thor and the rest of Asgard to greet them, to hear them and to understand. It is fine. All Loki needs to do in go outside and explain. That is it. Nothing else is required of him.

Breathe in, breathe out.

Loki has to do this, he _needs_ to. If he turns back now, all of Asgard could be destroyed, and the rest of the Nine Realms along with it. He can do this.

“ _You do not want to seek out my wrath_. Oh you are so related.” Rocket says, his tone mocking. “How much for the toy? Actually, don’t worry, I’ll take it later.”

“I do not have time for games!” Thor threatens dangerously, “You have caused the destruction of my home. My patience wears thin! State your purpose!”

“Yeah! Well _I_ just had to deal with all of _this!”_ There is a gap where Rocket must be gesturing to the wrecked ship. “Excuse me if my patience is pretty thin too!”

“You mock me!”

“Fuck yeah I do!”

Thor roars. Rocket roars. Their feet pound against the smooth Asgardian stone floors as they charge.

“Wait!” Loki’s cry is a bit too high-pitched, and he stumbles over the last few Dark Elves to stagger out of the door, having to duck so he does not bang his head. “Thor! Stop!”

“Rocket!” Gamora snaps, sprinting forward to yank Rocket back by his jacket. “Enough!”

Rocket strains against her grip, breathing hard. 

Thor’s steps falter, their eyes lock.

“Loki?”

Breathe in, breathe out.

Complete and utter shock ripples across Thor’s face, his jaw opening, closing, and then opening again. 

He has aged since Loki was here last, since their battle on the Bifrost. His hair has grown longer and is now tied back away from his face. He has grown the stubble of a beard, though it is nothing to rival the white mass of Odin’s, and there are deep smudges of dark under his eyes. The small scar on the edge of his jaw is new.

Breathe in, breathe out.

Mjolnir is dropped, thudding into the ground and breaking stone as if it was nothing. Loki flinches at the sound, but dares not blink.

With three great strides Thor closes the distance between them and there is no pause, no hesitation before Thor is flinging his arms around Loki. His rough breathing, fast, panicked, unbelieving, is loud in Loki’s ear.

Thor makes a pained sound, as if injured, as if something from deep within is breaking down, like a great and ancient wall being ploughed by an unimagined truth. For the briefest of moments, Loki thinks Rocket has somehow harmed Thor. That the small forest creature has brought down the mighty God of Thunder.

A second later, Loki realises Thor is sobbing.

“Loki…” Thor’s head buries deep into the crook between Loki’s neck and shoulder, his own shoulders shaking. “Oh, Loki…”

Breathe in, breathe out.

Swallowing down acid, grief, hope and terror, Loki snakes his arms up from his sides, carefully placing them against the armour on Thor’s back.

“Thor…” Thor shudders, as if hearing Loki’s voice was a stone too much to bear. “Thor.”

Thor stutters, whimpers, whispering into Loki’s ear, “I saw you fall. Brother, I saw you fall.”

Shocking to a grand total of no one, Loki knew that.

“I know.” He says, dumbly. “I know you did.”

“I thought you dead. Heimdall could not see you.” The tears continue, though they cascade slower, Thor yet to release Loki from his hold. “How can you be here? What sorcery of the Fates brought you back?”

Loki has no words for that, squeezing his eyes shut and swallowing thickly instead. Thor’s breathe shudders, and then he finally pulls away, holding Loki’s upper arms to look him over.

“Brother, I…” Thor gulps, and raises a hand to cup the back of Loki’s neck. “I must be dreaming, surely. Any moment a servant will be waking me for my duties.”

“I-”

_“Can’t stay at home, can’t stay in school. Old folk say, you poor little fool.”_

Loki spins, raising an unimpressed eyebrow at Peter, who shrinks back. He sticks up a peaceful hand, the other holding the Walkman which warbles to a stop.

“Sorry.” He squeaks under the intense scrutiny of two gods, “Was just checking it over. Didn’t realise it was on loud.”

“Who are your companions?” Thor’s hand remains on Loki’s neck, but Thor’s gaze shifts around at the others. “I must reward you for returning my brother to me.”

Rocket immediately perks at the idea. “Oh, yes, please do!” 

Thor runs his eyes over Rocket before bowing his head. “No hard feelings…Rabbit, I hope you understand my confusion.”

“Rabbit?” Rocket mutters, tossing a bewildered expression to Peter, who shrugs.

Loki clears his throat. “Rocket,” He introduces, and then, “Peter Quill, Gamora, Groot, and…” He trails off, scanning the area. “Where is-”

“Ah-hah!” The bellow causes everyone to jump, turning to the ship-shaped crater in the wall. Drax stands in the middle of another room, his hands in the air. One holds a Dark Elven blade, and he pants heavily. He bounces excitedly, still high on adrenaline. “My friends! Let us do that again! We-”

“No!” Gamora instantly interrupts, cutting off that train of thought. “Absolutely not!”

“Thor.” Loki brings Thor’s attention back to him, speaking seriously. “Where is the Allfather? We need to-”

With a sharp bang a nearby wooden door flings open, smacking into the wall to revealing Odin dressed in his armour, an out-of-breath Heimdall, and several guards. In perfect sync, the guards step before their King and aim their weapons at the group, shields ready to defend. Thor’s hand falls from Loki’s neck, moving to stand between them.

“Father,” Thor addresses, face and voice full of emotion. “Be at peace, this is not an attack.”

From the way Thor has placed himself Loki cannot see Odin, however he does lock eyes with his companion.

“I thought I heard you.” Heimdall stares at Loki, a rare expression of bewilderment across his face. Given any other situation and Loki would be basking in such confusion within the Watcher of Worlds. Here, Loki merely swallows in response. “I was so certain that was your voice. How have you evaded my gaze? Even within Asgard, I could not see you.”

“How much can you truly see at the moment, Watchman?” Loki narrows his eyes, locking his jaw against the intimidating presence of Heimdall and his level, commanding voice. “There is much happening in the Nine, much that I do not believe you can witness.”

The guards stand down, drawing back weapons as the Allfather walks forward.

Green eyes meet blue.

Something flickers over Odin’s face, like a spasm of pain, or anguish, or confusion. Odin’s mouth, previously open to speak, abruptly closes. His grip on Gungnir tightens as he sucks in a sharp gasp, lips muttering something unheard to the rest of the room. 

Loki fights to keep his expression even. A thousand thoughts run through his head, a thousand scenarios of how to play this out. He wants to be cold, calculating, distrusting, everything Odin ever was. 

( _“No, Loki.”_ )

He wants to fling himself forward, to embrace the old man, to revert down into the child who ran to his father for protection. He wants to curl up and allow someone else to shoulder the responsibility of this whole entire mess.

( _“Father! Father, look!”_ )

The word ‘Father’ lays heavy on his tongue, battling against his teeth like honey soaked vomit. He tries, he tries to force his breath from his lungs, to expel the word and reconnect. Loki’s fingers twitch, as if to reach out.

What does eventually come out, however, is a plain noise in the back of his throat, and then, “Allfather.”

“Loki…” 

Odin moves when Loki does not, coming close to brush his fingertips against Loki’s shoulder, as if confirming that he is truly there and not some phantom of the mind. Odin’s eye shines in a manner that speaks of unshed tears, and Loki battles to keep his face neutral, their gazes connecting, unspoken words dancing in the air between them. 

The back of his head is cupped, gently, and brought forward to bump against the wrinkled brow of an ageing king.

“Oh my boy.” 

Loki’s hands are fisted determinedly at his sides, hard and shaking and probably cracking the skin over his knuckles. His entire body is stiff, his lower jaw working his teeth together with enough force to banish his molars into his jaw. He snaps his eyes shut to avoid the love in Odin’s gaze.

“My son.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For some reason my word document wanted me to change “Thor gulps, and raises a hand to cup the back of Loki’s neck” to “Thor gulps, and raises a hand to cut the back of Loki’s neck” and, like, NO???
> 
> So Loki and Odin’s relationship (prepare for a long ramble): 
> 
> As much as we like to mock it, I do honestly believe that Odin loves Loki (at this stage, before Loki tries to conquer Earth, afterwards is a totally different kettle of fish). 
> 
> I rewatched the first Thor when I began writing this, and if you watch the vault scene with the idea that Odin is A) Telling the truth when he says that his original motivations no longer matter and that Loki is his son, B) Told Loki his original intentions because he realised that lying wasn’t going to help either of them, and C) Trying to have this serious conversation while fighting to stay out of the Odin Sleep (replace that with ‘stroke’ or ‘heart attack’ and I think we would all be a bit more understandable), then he does suddenly seem a lot more caring. 
> 
> Now, was the whole “No, Loki” while his son dangled over the edge of the Bifrost acceptable? Hell no, and we will deal with that, but I don’t think that is a sign of Odin being completely heartless either. Odin seemed loving enough when he told Thor and Loki the tale of the Jotun invading Earth as kids, looking at both of them and then holding their hands. Yes, he does lean into Thor, but that’s because he is specifically answering Thor. What parent doesn’t angle themselves towards the child they are addressing as they walk along? 
> 
> As for Loki’s side of things, he is a very confused puppy at the moment. He is very much aware of what he did and how that will be viewed, and obviously has yet to come to terms with the whole ‘you’re adopted’ thing, but he doesn’t completely hate Asgard either. Apart from at the beginning, when everything was still fresh, overall Loki in this fic has only really displayed worry or fear over Asgard, or has unhealthy pushed those emotions down into indifference.
> 
> Because of that, Loki has yet to properly sit himself down and think about his relationship to Odin. As part of that, he has never picked up on the unconscious fact that he has continued to call Frigga ‘mother’. His denial over the entire situation means he hasn’t processed it, and therefore hasn’t fully disclaimed himself as part of the Odinson family and instead is just floating around in the unknown. Is he upset and hurt? Yes. Is he less trusting of Odin than before? Certainly. But does a small part of him also remember the time where he loved his family, and wants to become a son Odin can be proud of? I think so.
> 
> Remember: The Loki in Avengers has been with Thanos, and is a different Loki to the one here. Up until the very last second, Loki in Thor 1 was trying to prove himself “the worthy son” and gain Odin’s love, to show that he “could have done it”. That is the Loki we are playing with here, and the one I will continue to write.
> 
> Thanks for coming to my Ted talk!


	70. Chapter 70

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A chapter in which Loki is totally comfortable and not at all under any stress or upset!

“I am Groot.”

The moment, whatever the moment may have been, is broken, and Loki yanks back from Odin’s grasp. Moisture builds behind his eyelids, and he blinks rapidly, setting his jaw and forcing it away through sheer willpower.

Odin opens his mouth as if to speak, but Loki zeroes his attention onto Groot, who has decided to climb onto his shoulder, tongue thick within his mouth. His hand hangs in the air for a moment in the space where Loki’s head had just been before falling to his side. With an unreadable expression, he shifts his gaze to Groot, and then the rest of the team.

“You were on board this ship, my son?” He asks, eyeing the damage done to the Palace. 

Loki nods mutely. Peter glances between him and Odin, and then slaps on the most ‘hey hire me’ smile Loki has ever seen, holding out a hand to the Allfather. 

“The name’s Star Lord, your Majesty.” He greets, only to have his grin falter. “Uh, am I meant to bow here? Or do I kiss your hand? Sorry, we didn’t-”

Odin shakes his head, waving him off. “No, you cause no offense. I must thank you; you have returned my son to me. Though,” He regards the destruction. “There are far easier ways to get my attention.”

Gamora steps forward, offering a hand to Odin who shakes it. “Gamora. And this is Rocket, Groot, and Drax.” She indicates each in turn. Drax fists a hand over his heart and bows his head, in a gesture reminiscent of when he first met Loki. “This,” Gamora knocks Peter’s arm. “Is Peter Quill.”

“Aw, Gamora-”

“I apologise for our…Unsophisticated entrance,” Gamora continues, unbothered by Peter’s pouting. “We were attacked on our way, and our ship was badly damaged. We lost control.”

Odin nods, taking this in. “I hope I am not being too forward, Gamora, however I do not believe you are of the Nine.”

“Peter is, he’s from Terra- ah, wait, Midgard?” Her eyes dart over to Loki, who nods once. “The rest of us are not. We’re from wider space.”

“Wider space?” Thor repeats, taking up a position beside Loki. Although Loki keeps his gaze on the team, Thor’s heavy presence sends the hairs on the back of his neck on end. “The how did you reach the Nine?”

“Yggbasil.” Peter says.

“Yggdrasil.” Loki corrects softly.

“Yggdrasil.” Peter says.

“You took this ship on the ancient pathways?” Thor tone twists with oddness, not quite scoffing but with clear disbelief. “How in the Nine did you manage-”

“Thor.” Odin holds up a hand, silencing him. “I do not believe this is the place for such a discussion. This sounds like quite the tale, and I am unsure exactly how steady these walls are. It would be an embarrassment to have the ceiling cave in on our guests.”

As one, everyone barring Odin and Heimdall glances to the ceiling, including Odin’s guardsmen. 

Thor bows his head. “Then let us retire to the private dining hall. I shall call a servant to bring us refreshments. From the sounds of things you may be in need of a drink.”

“I like this guy.” Rocket grins approvingly. “He has the smart ideas.”

“Heimdall, please show our guests the way and then return to your watch.” Odin instructs, before turning to his guards. “Please return to your posts, and send cleaners and builders to remedy this mess. Loki,” He flinches at his name, his teeth grinding together as he peels his eyes down from the ceiling to meet Odin’s. “I believe there is someone else you need to visit. Join us when you are ready, you will find her in our chambers.”

Loki has no time to respond before everyone is moving, Gamora shooting him a raised eyebrow in a silent question as she passes by. He gives her a small nod, making her shoulders relax as she follows Heimdall out the room. Drax thumps him on the shoulder, giving time for Groot to hop off Loki and clamber up onto the larger man.

Loki shall have to get him to spar Thor, later.

Within moments, Loki is left alone in the room with Thor and Odin. So preoccupied with watching the team that he had failed to realise this was the plan and his shoulders rise around him, breathe hitching as he inches a step away.

Thor pays this display no heed and leans over, cupping his hand against Loki’s neck once more, a gentle, pleased smile on his face. The small space Loki had created between them is lost in an instant.

“Loki, brother, I have missed you so.”

Loki swallows. “You have changed.”

“As I tried to t-” Thor cuts off his own words, seeming to think better of it. “Yes.” He says simply.

“It appears you have been through much.” Odin comments, watching Loki who keeps his eyes on Thor. “Heimdall was unable to see you, we thought you had perished.”

“That was the aim.” Loki’s mouth replies before he can think, and at the way Thor pales nausea twists in his stomach. He tries to shove the conversation forward, “I simply fell out of the Nine; Heimdall should have seen me there.”

“Yet he could not.” Odin sighs, sounding weary. Briefly, Loki wonders if the Odin Sleep calls again. “Thor, take Loki to see your Mother. I shall join our guests.” With that Odin takes his leave, his armour flashing in the sunlight gleaming through the newly acquired window.

Thor tilts his head as they start towards the doors. “They are guests, are they not? The rabbit seemed violent, we are not indulging kidnappers, are we Loki?”

“He is a raccoon, Thor, not a rabbit.” An old urge to roll his eyes overtakes him, causing Thor to grin like he is a child being indulged in sweetmeats. “Though do not call him as such. And no, they have no ill intent towards me.”

“That is good.”

Thor leads him along, as if his time away has washed clean Loki’s memory and he did not know the way to Odin and Frigga’s chambers himself. He also walks slowly, his pace even with Loki’s, and every thirty seconds he glances down to Loki as if he cannot believe he is really at his side. 

He is still taller than Loki, and still seems to absorb muscle mass with every training session, but there is something about his demeanour now that is calmer, more settled and less war-hungry. 

It is a strange sight to see.

“Brother,” Thor starts after a long moment’s pause, their shoes tapping on the polished stone floor. “I truly cannot believe you are here by my side.”

Loki’s fists ache in their tight grip. “I had not intended to return, but events seemed to have led me back.”

“You did not intend to return?” Thor’s smile droops. “You did not wish to be reunited?”

“I…” Words stutter in his mouth, catching his throat like thick honey. “I do not say that to pain you. I…” The sheath around his chest feels tight, suffocating, squeezing all the fight out of him as if a deadly serpent overpowering a kill. Closing his eyes, he hisses. “Not now, Thor. Later, let us discuss this later.”

Thor watches him, deep blue eyes changed but at the same time still very much the eyes of the young boy Loki had known and loved. He does not reach out like Loki would expect, nor does he try and argue his point. Instead, he hums, the noise vibrating within his armour.

“That promises you to still be here for later, brother, which is more than enough for me.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't mind me just making good use of all those 'hurt/comfort'. 'angst' and 'drama' tags!!
> 
> Do I lose points for not making the roof fall in and kill them all?


	71. Chapter 71

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I predict some crying in this one...

Thor leaves him outside the door to Odin and Frigga’s chambers, his hand briefly reaching out to pat Loki on the back as if to confirm for one last time that this is reality. 

Though, perhaps after everything that has happened, this is his way of preparing him for the sight he is about to see. Their Mother had always been a force to be reckoned with, but held a very soft and sensitive centre. The news of Loki’s death must have hit at that centre hard. 

Softly Loki knocks on the old wood, his knuckles tingling as he does. It is the same door that was there when he was a child, and if he was to look hard enough Loki is sure he would still be able to pick up on all the nicks and scratches he would run his nail over while waiting for a parent to answer him during the night. 

He has grown since then, of course, but that only meant finding new kooks to find until he was deemed old enough to fend for himself in the dark hours.

“Come in.” His Mother calls from inside, ignorant to the fact that those very words bring the briefest sting of tears to his eyes.

Breathe in and breathe out. 

Just like she taught him.

Turning the handle, Loki steps into the room, practically hugging the door. He shuts it gently behind him, squeezing his eyes shut for a moment, gnawing at his lip, before setting his chin and turning towards her, his face a picture of neutral. 

She is not looking towards him, instead sitting in a chair across the room by the doors of the balcony, a large tapestry across her lap. Although he can only see her back, her mess of hair mostly loose save for two braids along the side of her head, meeting at the back centre, he can tell she is sewing. Her hand moves up and down in a manner that says she is repairing a tear in the old material.

“Set it down over there, please.” She does not turn, waving her unoccupied hand in the direction of a nearby table. After a second she pauses in her work to examine the stitching, before standing with the tapestry in hand. 

She walks across the room distractedly, not looking up as she continues to scrutinise her work, her toes tapping on the floor a little noisily. Only when Loki enters her peripheral vision does she glance at him.

The tapestry is abruptly dropped to the floor in an undignified heap, her hands jumping back towards her body as if burned.

“Now do not go ruining your hard work.” Loki chastises, nerves bubbling in his stomach. He struggles to reign in his expression and, hands behind his back, he picks at the skin of his thumb.

Ok, so those were not his intended first words to her. But it is something, at the very least. He has confirmed that he is no silently wandering phantom haunting old halls to tap messages on the panes of windows.

His Mother’s eyes are wide, one hand lifting to her mouth as the other reaches out, wanting to touch but unable. She shakes, quivers, like leaf still on the branch being battered by a gale most unsavoury.

“Loki?” She whispers, her voice as soft and warm as he remembers, pitched high with shock. “Loki, are you truly here? My son…”

“I am here.”

As if broken from an enchantment she dives forward, almost tripping on the fallen tapestry as she brings her arms around him, embracing him tightly in a way only a mother can.

During his time off Asgard, Loki had allowed himself to forget their similarity in height. He is barely an inch taller; though you would not know it from the way she buries herself into him.

“My Loki…” She sobs, holding him as Loki stiffly rests his chin on her shoulder. In an awkward movement, he places his hands on the small of her back. “You are here, you are truly here. Oh my son. My sweet son.”

“I am here.” Loki repeats, as if stuck in a similar fashion to Peter’s tapes. He can feel his eyes turning painful and wills it far away. “I am here.”

“I am so sorry.” She suddenly stutters, almost desperately, like she must say so now in fear she will never get the chance again. “My child I am so sorry. I made so many mistakes…” Frigga pulls away, placing both hands on either cheek. Her thumbs brush them. “I did so many wrongs. I should never have kept the truth from you, I should never…” She shakes her head, fresh tears spilling. “Can you ever find it in your heart to forgive me?”

Loki’s mouth bobs open and closed in an unflattering picture. “I do not know…” He whispers, not unkindly, but weak, his words wobbling. “I…”

His Mother shushes him, pulling him against her in a similar fashion to Odin previously. “It is ok, it is ok.” Fingers run through his hair. “I know what I did is wrong, I know that now. I had my reasons at the time, but now I know. I know.” Her breath hitches, and her grip tightens. “How are you here? Heimdall could not see you, no one could. How have you returned to us?”

“I crashed into the Palace.” Loki says simply, voice feeling scratchy against his throat.

Frigga releases him, keeping a hand on his shoulder to bring the other to massage her forehead. She laughs wetly.

“So that is what the commotions was about, I did wonder. Trust my little Loki to make the grandest of entrances.”

“There may be a few holes in the walls.” He adds. “And a wrecked spaceship.”

“A spaceship? Loki,” Her tone is scornful, but her eyes shine with love. “We leave you unattended for five minutes.”

Loki shrugs, trying to keep the back-and-forth going. It is easy, comforting, and he understands the rules of the game. It is far easier than the haze of everything else.

“The God of Mischief title is my burden to bear; I must see it through to the bitter end.”

She looks at him as if that is the most magnificent sentence in the world. “My son, I have missed you so dearly.”

“And I you.” He cannot keep her gaze now and something within shrinks back. “I…” Loki clears his throat and tries again. “I did not intend to return.” He admits, forcing out the honesty. “I was beyond the Nine, I was going to stay there, gain some units, and find my own way around…”

“Oh Loki,” Hurt flashes across her soft features, and is quickly replaced with concern. “I am so sorry we made you feel that way, as if you had no other choice.” More sternly she takes both his hands, forcing him to make eye contact. “You will _always_ be welcomed here, my son. You have been returned to me, and I will not allow death to take you away again.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Frigga, the ultimate Mama Bear! Mess with her cubs and there will be HEL to pay!
> 
> Get it? Hel? Like Hela?
> 
> These are the puns of this chapter, take it or leave it.
> 
> (Edit: Neat thing I just noticed, this is chapter 71, and my word count is 77,771 - That is unbelievably satisfying!)


	72. Chapter 72

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Because I’m a lovely person and care for my readers I’m just going to ruin all your hopes, dreams, and expectations!

Loki allows Frigga to loop an arm through his own as they make their way to the private dining hall. She leans into him, enjoying the contact, savouring it like a piece of delicate honeycomb on her tongue. There is a content smile on her face, though one that is not without a hint of bittersweet reminiscent.

“The day we lost you I thought my heart would never beat again.” Frigga admits, and Loki, lacking anything to say to that, elects to hold his tongue still. His mother notices, because of course she does, Loki was rarely able to hide his secrets from her, and continues after a pause. “We all mourned. Thor…He has been unable to forgive himself. There were many nights where I found him wandering the corridors, lost in his grief.”

“It…Must have been hard.” He supplies kindly, but even as he speaks he feels a familiar spark of _something_ in his chest. Words feel stiff in his throat, as if a hard bone wedged far enough to suffocate, refusing to dislodge through hacking coughs.

“It was, oh my son it was.” There is a beat of silence, and then Frigga stops, watching with pursed lips as Loki raises an eyebrow in silent question. She sucks in a breath, placing both hands on his upper arms. “And for you, Loki? Falling from the Bifrost…” Her voice trails off, shaking her head as it vanishes into nothing. “I cannot imagine it. Are you ok?”

A sneer of ‘define ok’ rises like acid bile, but he swallows it down. It scratches painfully.

“There have been…Challenges.” Loki says after some hesitation, and the diplomatic nature of his tone does not go unnoticed by either of them. “There have been…Great pains.”

“You have grown thin.” His Mother’s eyes roam his face expertly, noticing all the subtle changes of his body. He worries the inside of his lip under the scrutiny, but does not wither. “And pale. You have not received much sun.”

“To receive sun in space means you are within close proximity, which is not often the most desired of things.”

Frigga chuckles softly, the lines around her eyes crinkling with humour, “No, I suppose it is not. I have never been to the worlds outside the Nine, what is it like?” 

They start moving again, and her arm once more wraps around his elbow. It is a comfortable weight there, familiar and warm.

“Big.” He comments, turning his gaze forward. “Empty.”

( _Galaxies dart across his eyes, intoxicating, nauseating. His freefall is chaotic, causing him to twist, tumble and roll like a leaf in the ocean, nothing more than another speck to throw around. His fingers curl, as if to grab something, to halt his decent through the cosmos_ -)

“Is that all? Surely there is more to it than that.”

Working his jaw, Loki nods at her words. “No, no there is much more. Creatures we have never seen in the Nine.” Ghilda springs to mind, and Yondu, and the colourful crew of the Eclector. The creatures Harper fought in the bar, and the person who brought the crown. “They can be like nothing we have ever seen, shaped in such ways we cannot imagine.”

“A true adventurer.” Frigga smiles, squeezing his arm. “It is just like your teenage years with Thor. Off to see the world, ready to learn.”

Loki is going to choke on his own tongue, he is sure of it. “It was not…It was not a _holiday_ …”

“Oh no!” Realising her mistake, Frigga stops again to hold his cheeks. “Oh my son, I know, I know. You have been forced to survive, to endure with only your wits and your skills. A true Aesir through and through.”

“A true Aesir?” Loki repeats, a frown tugging at his brows and pulling sharply out of her hands. Deep within him, a dark, uncomfortable emotion bubbles, fizzes, reacting in the same manner as a cat to a bee sting. When he speaks again, it is spat. “But I am not a _true Aesir_.”

Something unreadable crosses her face. “You are. My son you are in all but blood. Please, let us not fight when we have only just got you back-”

“Got me back?” Stumbling away from her, Loki’s hands fist tight at his side. His voice lowers to hiss, “Got me back? I returned to Asgard all by myself, I received no help from Odin, or Thor, or you. Everything I have now is because I worked, and I pulled my weight, and I earned the trust of those who I arrived with. They are the ones who helped me, even though they have little incentive to listen to me, or to try and understand me.”

“Loki, my son-”

“Exactly how hard has Heimdall been looking?” Loki interrupts easily, his words fierce. “I have every doubt in his abilities. I know for factual truth the goings of the Nine, and I can tell no single Asgardian has any idea.” 

“My child, please.” Frigga takes his hands into her own, eyes searching his face. “Please, do not be angry. Heimdall looked for you, I promised he did, and you were not to be found. We thought you perished within the Void, we thought no being could survive such a fall. Our grief was strong; we were all so pained-”

“And I was not?” Snatching his hands from her loving grip, his gaze turns cold, dangerous, betrayed. “Do you know how it feels to fall for an eternity, to be unable to hear a single sound other than the voice in your own head? Are you familiar with the sensation of space numbing your skin, freezing your brain and manipulating your thoughts? Tell me, _Allmother_ , do you know what it is like to wake on an alien planet, something screaming in your ear, finding yourself alone in the entire universe, abandoned, lost, surrounded by beings more than ready to rob you blind, to beat you, to use your naivety against you?”

“My son…” Tears streak down her face, marring those gentle features, horror possessing her expression. “My darling child, I…”

Loki’s own eyes are heavy with unshed liquid, and his lips quake. Stepping a single pace forward, he points to the ground as he snaps, “Do _not_ speak to me of Aesir, or gaining me back, when you know nothing of my experiences, the _hel_ I was put through just because this family cannot tell the truth.”

The sword feels heavy on his back.

“I promise that will change.” Frigga’s voice is hushed and her hands tremble. “My son, you have my word.”

“I am the Liesmith, the Silver Tongue. Words mean very little to me.” He dismisses, no longer able to keep her gaze. His jaw aches. “Actions say far more, and so far all they seem to be doing is unravelling more hidden truths.”

With that he marches away, leaving her alone in the corridor to watch his back. His steps are steady, determined, and do not falter, but running down his face are enough tears to sting his cheeks for years.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You see these warm fuzzy feels you all had from last chapter? Well I’m just gonna take those, mush them up a bit, knock them about with a hammer, and then chuck them into a lion’s den. There may be some fire too, don’t know. The night’s still young.


	73. Chapter 73

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Groot takes an unexpected bath...
> 
> Oh, and some other stuff!

Loki’s gaze remains fiercely locked on Odin as the Allmother enters the private dining hall, his spine stuck ramrod in the chair as if made from the ice cold marble of the palace columns. 

She glances his way, her posture perfect, her hands clasped gently at her front, but says nothing as she slowly turns her head to take in the rest of the room’s occupants before gracefully crossing the room to sit in a chair. Her hair has been tied up in a twisted bun on the back of her head, and small ringlets sway as she looks between speakers, continuing to hold her mouth closed in favour of simply watching the proceedings.

Outside, a thousand stars litter the sky, the day having swiftly melted into night. While a few torches have been lit in the room, most of the light is sourced from the grand stone fireplace that stands proudly in the wall, casting long shadows over the floor. Wood crackles and shrieks as it cracks under the intense heat, and Loki finds his eyes being drawn into the dancing red.

Gamora sits beside him on a bench, back leaning against the long oak table that has been scrubbed clean of all blemishes. On his other side is Drax, who happily gulps down a pitcher of mead, froth catching his upper lip in the most unflattering way. 

Peter had declined the offered drink, sitting on another bench across the room with Rocket, who had unsurprisingly accepted his own with all the eagerness of a child with sweetened treats. Groot wanders around on the table, staring up at the painted ceiling and the myths they depict. Loki refuses to join Groot; he knows these tales by heart form years of evening meals within these quarters, to look would do little more than sir up unwanted sensations.

During his absence Gamora and Peter took it upon themselves to inform Odin of the plans of the Dark Elves, leaving it to Loki to provide the more intricate details on the topic when he arrived.

It is irrelevant to mention he had just spent half an hour in a hidden corner of the library, tucked against a window overlooking the city.

Odin is, strangely, silent as he listens, and now moves to watch the rest of Asgard go about their nightly activities, the curtains swaying lightly in the evening breeze. His hands grip together behind his back, and his jaw moves subtly back and forth as he mulls the information over, eyes narrowing at nothing off in the distance.

Shifting on the bench, Loki keeps his jaw locked.

There was only one other thing he omitted from the tale. Something that he skirted around, catching the team’s gaze when others were not looking to communicate this fact.

This is not the time to discuss a certain sword which he had unstrapped and tucked under the table.  
Loki is very much saving that for later.

Thor, standing against the fireplace, looks between Odin, to Loki, and then back again, his lips pursed and his shoulders rising in a manner that suggests a compression of whatever emotion he is feeling. Clearing his throat, he pushes off the stone to stand properly.

“Father, if this is the truth-”

“ _If?_ ” Peter repeats, disconcerted.

Thor continues, ignoring Peter. “Then Asgard is in grave peril. We could fend off a single army, yes, but not one consisting of multiple. These outsiders, those from wider space, they will be using weapons we have never seen before, weapons from which we have no protection.”

“Wider space is disorganised, they are barbaric in nature.” Odin turns to face Thor, waving a dismissive hand as he steps away from the window. “While they are allied with the Dark Elves, these different fractions will not move as one. Such chaos will easily be slaughtered by our trained warriors.”

Rocket blinks, and then nudges Peter. “Do we resent that?”

“You are underestimating them.” Loki stands, moving forward a pace, his hands behind his back. “They will not move as one, that is true, but they will have weapons which are far more powerful. Ships can shoot faster than any sword thrown. They have speed, which our weapons do not. I-”

“You have been gone from home for too long, my son. You forget the might of Asgard.”

“The might of-” Loki stammers, reining in his jaw from hanging open. Shock makes his tone louder than intended, “We will not win this by sheer reputation alone! We need plans, organisation, we need more people than Asgard currently has!”

Odin’s face becomes stern, brow shifting to a frown. “The reputation of Asgard is universe wide. I know more than you think I do, my son, my Father was the one who put in place the barriers to keep the Nine contained. He traversed to a place known as Xandar, and installed their harsh punishments for entering our territory. While these lowlifes clearly work beyond the laws, others will see this and think better of it.” The Allfather lifts his chin. “Reputation goes beyond simple titles; they hold power and prestige universe-wide.”

“Power and prestige?” Loki challenges, tongue clicking in his mouth. With quick hands he flicks on his wristpad, standing tall as he types into the search engine. “Let me read to you what they think of Asgard. Here, ‘Trade and contact with Asgard and its territories is not only prohibited, but ill-advised’. Or here, ‘Asgard is a primitive and hot-headed society’. And this one, ‘Asgard is so arrogant with its dominance, that it does not realise the stupid, primitive nature of its society in comparison to the rest of the cosmos’.” Loki locks eyes with Odin and spreads his arms wide. “The universe sees Asgard, Allfather, and it _laughs_.”

“Not to…” Peter pipes up, flinching a little when the gaze of the room snaps onto him. “Not to butt in, or anything, but you guys live for thousands of years, right? Well, Xandar’s changed hands multiple times since then. The worse you get in terms of punishment now is a spell in prison.”

“And _that_ ain’t really much.” Rocker adds, “It’s easy enough to break outta there if you’re determined enough.”

“The point being,” Gamora gets to her feet, crossing her arms. “Outside of the Nine Realms people aren’t going to be all that bothered about another place being conquered. In space, that happens all the time. Kree, Nova, local warlords and politics, none of it is unusual. If Asgard and the Nine Realms fall, it’s no skin off our backs.”

Peter thinks aloud, his fingers absently picking at a corner of his jacket, “You guys don’t trade with anyone, either, or have any influential contacts. If you did, and an invasion disrupted other economies, sure people would care. But as it stands, you’re on your own. Anyway,” Peter cocks his head at Odin. “People have been sneaking in and out of the Nine for years, I’m proof of that!”

“What would you suggest?” Thor asks, honestly, his voice deep enough with worry that Loki blinks at him. 

“Our enemies know we are here.” Drax says, having now finished his drink. It lays abandoned on the table, leaving a damp ring on the wood, and Groot peers over the edge to play with the bubbles left on the inside. “Not all of them followed us through the portal. They’d have reported back to Malekith.”

Loki bites the inside of his cheek. “This gives us very little time to prepare. And we do not know if there are still spies within the Palace walls reporting back.”

“Is there anyone outside the Nine who you could call? Anyone trusted?” Thor insists, sparing a quick glance between Loki and Peter. “I believe you when you say these outsides pose a great threat. The best way to tackle them would to fight fire with fire, to have something equal to their own strength.”

“Someone trusted…” Gamora muses, sharing a _look_ with Peter.

Groot overestimates, and topples headfirst into the glass with a squeak. Everyone pauses to watch Rocket fish him out, using the fur of his arm to clean the small plant off, much to Groot’s very vocal displeasure. 

“I mean, I guess we could…” Peter’s mutter trails off, he and Gamora seeming to be holding a silent conversation based through eye contact alone. “He didn’t let us down with Xandar…”

“He would expect payment for his troubles.” Gamora muses, “They all would.”

Loki sighs, lifting a hand to rub his temples. “I can guess who you are talking about. I am sure the Allfather would reward them for their assistance.”

Odin makes a noise in the back of his throat. “And who, exactly, are we talking about?”

“Yondu and the ninety-ninth Ravager Clan,” Peter supplies. “The biggest assholes in the galaxy.”

Loki snorts, and Thor sends a scandalized glance at him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy birthday to you, happy birthday to you, happy birthday Asterooooiiiiidddd, happy birthday to you!!
> 
> On the 26th November 2017, at exactly 1:58pm, I opened up a word document and began typing up the first few lines of this fic, with no idea as to where the story would go and armed only with the knowledge that I wanted Loki and the Guardians to meet. One year later I have a word document at the grand total of 97,216 words and a story which took on a life of it's own!!
> 
> So thank you all my amazing readers, I honestly and truly appreciate you all taking the time to read this fic! We still have quite a long way to go yet, so I hope you enjoy the rest of the ride!!


	74. Chapter 74

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A chapter in which to fix a signal, Peter's method involves hitting it with his hand.
> 
> Einstein, who?

“You guys have terrible signal.” Peter complains, strutting across the room holding his communicator up in the air. He squints at it, as if that will magically solve his connection issues. “Jeez, how do you get anything done?”

“By messengers,” Sighing, Loki sinks further into the chair, one leg crossed and a tanker in hand. “Or the occasional raven.”

On the bed Drax snores loudly, his limbs flung in multiple directions and drool slowly dribbling from the corner of his mouth. Asgardian alcohol was stronger than he realised, apparently.

Rocket sits out on the balcony wall, taking in the view overlooking the lower city. Faint sounds of music and laughter drift up on the wind and the lights of thousands of torches set the streets in a soft, warm glow. Groot perches next to him, head nodding as he tries to save off sleep.

On the corner of her own bed, Gamora taps away at her wristpad.

As night had blanketed the sky Odin had offered his guests their own separate rooms for the evening, but after a moments debate they had elected to take a single chamber. Gamora explained it as keeping an eye on her team; however Loki knew it was because they had yet to trust anyone here.

He could hardly blame them.

Loki’s own chamber are “being prepared” for him, though in all likelihood this was an excuse to give servants time to dust and freshen his room, removing any mourning items that had been placed there and pulling down all the sheets covering his dressers and desk.

Peter continues wandering around in circles, “So,” He starts in a fake conversational manner, “Daddy seems nice.”

“Peter.” Gamora warns, but Loki waves a hand.

“No, no it is fine.” Loki finishes his last mouthful of drink. His is nowhere near as strong as Drax had it, and he can tell it has been watered down, likely his Mother’s doing. “You were going to have to meet him at some point. The Allfather is…” His words trail, struggling to latch onto something solid as all that comes out is thin breath. “He has had the throne for many years, with good reason.”

“He’s a dick.” Rocket says, not turning his back. “A Grade-A, di-”

“Mind your tongue.” Loki cuts in, but the heat withers somewhat at the expression Rocket shoots him. “Walls have ears, and treason is very much punishable by death, no matter who you are.”

“Duly noted.” Tutting, Gamora closes something on her wristpad, and then adds, quieter to Loki, “I’ll keep them in line, don’t worry.”

He nods once, running his fingers over his eyes and digging his nails into his eyeballs. “We need to work out our next move. Thor is on our side, so the Allfather will probably bend to the idea of setting up defences and traps.”

“If they agree to help us, how are we going to get the Eclector into Asgard?” Gamora asks, raising an eyebrow as Peter clambers onto the bed next to Drax, standing wobbly on the mattress to wave his device around. “Surely it will be too big for your portal.”

“They all have M-ships.” Peter pipes up, hitting the communicator with his palm. “They’ll probably park the Eclector somewhere and come like that.”

“Yggdrasil is likely to be patrolled, now.” Frowning, Loki adjusts in his chair. “We will have to be thoroughly organised when they come, and get them through as quickly as possible. Try outside, Peter.”

As Peter tries to climb down, the mattress dips heavily under his foot, causing him to twist, yelp, and land heavily on the floor with the grace and elegance of Thor trying to balance on a needle. He lies there, winded, dazed, and staring crossly at the ceiling. Not a single person moves to assist.

The device beeps twice, and Peter holds it up to his eyes.

“Hey, whaddaya know…”

There is a knock on the door.

“Come in.” Loki calls, watching Peter pick himself up, thumbs moving a mile a minute on the screen.

The door opens and Thor peeks around, moving like an uninvited guest at a party trying to locate the bathroom. He scoots into the room, his massive frame blocking the light from the corridor, and upon spotting Loki he beams widely.

“Brother, your room is ready. I thought I would accompany you.”

Standing, Loki cracks a crick in his neck, his hair brushing against his skin. “Oh? Were you the one cleaning my chambers, Thor? There will not be anything left standing, then.”

Instead of rising to the bait, Thor chuckles, regarding him with a sickly warmth before nodding to the others. “May you all rest well. A servant will show you to breakfast in the morning.”

“Thanks,” Gamora smiles politely, tucking her wristpad away under her sleeve. “And thank you for your hospitality. It’s much appreciated”

Thor waves an easy hand, shaking his head. “It is no bother. We will see to the repairs to your ship in the morrow, though I fear we will not have the technology required to get it running again.”

“Don’t worry about it, dude.” Peter says, now sat on the bed beside Drax. “We got stuff that can fix it.”

“He is not a dude.” A dreamy voice wafts up; causing Peter to jump and all eyes to fall onto the previously thought unconscious Drax still sprawled across the bed without on ounce of dignity. “You’re a dude.” He attempts to point at Peter, but only succeeds at hitting him lightly in the chest. He then shoves his hand in the direction of Thor. “He is a man.”

Thor clears his throat, lost eyes darting between Drax and Loki as if searching for a mean-spirited trick. “Thank you?” He offers politely, but the way his voice pitches higher reveals the awkward embarrassment that his cheeks fail to show.

“He’s had a lot to drink.” Gamora explains in way of apology. “Ignore him. Trust me, it’s easier to.”

Drax is oblivious. “A handsome…Muscular man…”

Peter blinks down at him. “How much did you have?”

“Let us go, Thor,” Loki pats him on the shoulder, squeezing passed to get out the door, “Before Drax is completely marooned by his honour.” 

Swallowing, Thor continues to stare around the room in utter confusion. As they step out into the corridor and close the door behind them, the beginnings of an argument can be heard starting up within.

“I’m a man!” Peter exclaims, somewhat squeakily, “Guys, tell him!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Somewhere, on another planet, "I get that reference! I...I get that one..."


	75. Chapter 75

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A conversation between Thor and Loki. That's innocent enough, right? What could possibly go wrong?!

“Your companions…” Thor muses in a somewhat curious manner, following Loki’s lead as they begin walking down the corridor. “They are very interesting.”

Slotting his hands together behind his back, Loki nods. “Gamora would enjoy the company of Lady Sif, I am sure.”

Thor ponders that for a moment, his brows turning down in thought, before breaking into a large smile. “Yes. We will have to introduce them. It would be nice for Sif to have another woman to look up to.”

There is not much Loki can add to that, so he allows the space between them to fall silent, his eyes not meeting Thor’s but acutely aware of the unsubtle staring. 

It lasts for another thirty seconds before Loki finally has enough and puts it to a halt, sighing tiredly and pointedly facing him, eyebrow raised. Thor withers a little under the scrutiny, but then his expression turns warm.

“Brother, it is good to have you at my side again.”

“Nonsense,” Loki dismisses with a wave of his hand, but after a pause adds with a little less venom, “You simply missed the spells that got us into the kitchens unseen.” Thor laughs, wrapping an arm around him as they walk.

“I will not deny it!” Giving Loki an extra squeeze, he lets go, the humour on his face gradually morphing into something softer, quieter. “It has not been the same without you. I kept going over-”

“Thor!” The bellow that echoes terrible in the corridor causes them both to jump, and Thor twists around to see the Warriors Three strutting up a set of stairs, Lady Sif not far behind. 

From the angle from which they approach, Loki is hidden from behind Thor’s back, though not that Thor’s back requires much in the way of ducking down.

Volstagg strolls up to Thor, thumping him on the arm good naturedly. “Where have you been all day? You missed all the action!”

“An entire ship of Dark Elves,” Fandral explains before Thor can get a word in edgeways. “Smashing into the side of the Palace!”

“But I was there, my friends.” Thor smiles as Sif rolls her eyes good-naturedly at the warriors, coming to a stop at their side. “I was first on scene.”

“Are you the cause of all those Elf deaths, then?” Fandral tucks his hands on his belt, walking around Thor. “I should have-” With an incredibly spectacular strangled yelp Fandral leaps a pace away, his sword whipping out to zing mere inches from Loki’s face. 

Loki looks down at the sword, and then tilts his head.

“Good evening.”

“My friends,” With ease Thor pushes the sword away, addressing all four. “There is no need for weapons; it is how it would seem. My brother has been returned to us.”

“My Prince,” Hogun nods his head in a bow, the expression on his face unreadable but his fall back into manners instant. “I…Have no words…”

Holding his chin up, Loki simply hums, watching them flounder. Sif is the next to come to her senses and realise who she is in the presence of, but the other two still gape disbelieving and bewildered. In a way, the moment is deliciously satisfying, but also sour.

“It is a miracle, surely…” Lady Sif gulps, her eyes strangely submissive before glancing up at Thor. “How did this come to be?”

Loki speaks before he can answer, opting for a distant though bemused and belittling tone. “By crashing into the side of the Palace,” He smiles, showing teeth, “Did you not hear the commotion?”

“Loki…” Thor sends him a look, but his expression is far too caring to hold any real hint of displeasure. “Behave.”

Loki only hums again.

Thor may have forgotten it, and Odin, and Frigga, but there were events _before_ his fall from the Bifrost. There were words said, and actions done, that simply cannot be swept under the rug like a piece of tunic fluff. 

Does Loki take pride in his every action? No, certainly not. If he was given half the chance he would go back and try again, show his worthiness through other, less tasteless means. But does that mean it should be ignored? Absolutely not, lessons were learned on both ends, and unless they go acknowledged they will be brushed away. 

And from the way Hogun continues to keep his gaze to the floor, and Sif dodge his gaze, others have not forgotten either.

The four of them refused to respect Loki’s rule, actively going against his orders and demands. While they may not have been right, there were still the command of the King, and in the past far worse rulers have controlled deadlier hands.

It will take a long time for either party to trust one another again, if ever.

Fandral is stammering like an idiot, and from the way he sways clearly has had too much to drink.

“Please close your mouth,” Loki huffs, growing weary of being stared at like a caged animal. “You shall attract flies.”

“I…I…”

“Come on,” Volstagg reaches over to actively shut Fandral’s mouth. “Let’s leave the Princes in peace. I expect they have much to discuss.”

“Thank you, my friends.” Thor nods, and with quick bows they turn back the way they came. Thor watches them go, his face still soft and ever-loving. “They mourned you as well, brother. I believe it as much a shock to them as it was to me.”

Loki narrows his eyes, mouth thinning. His teeth nip at his bottom lip. “I highly doubt that, Thor.”

“I speak the truth.”

“Then your eyes are blind.” Loki leans back on his heels, shifting away. The nail of his thumb digs craters into his palm. “My relationship with _your_ friends has always been strained. A polite courtesy at the most.”

Thor’s face falls, and he watches Loki with wounded eyes. “Brother, you are mistaken. Did you not see Hogun-”

“I am not, Thor.” Loki steps another pace back, all hint of humour now vanished from his person. “And as for Hogun, he merely remembered what everyone wishes to forget. That for a spell I was King. He and the others all went against direct orders, and behaved less than welcoming to my reign. I am not saying-” Loki waves a hand when Thor goes to interject, “That everything I did was…Entirely correct…”

“Oh Loki-”

“But!” Loki fixes Thor is a sharp, unwithering gaze that Thor struggles to break from. “That does not mean others did not do wrong either. I have never existed within the same circle as them, Thor, nor do I believe I ever will.”

“You have your space friends, instead.” The words are not said harshly, but the way Thor mutters them, defeated, bitter, as if injured personally by the fact, makes something in Loki’s chest twist, suffocating him and causing his brain to spin from lack of air.

Loki’s mouth wires so tightly shut that his teeth must sink down into his jaws, allowing his face to speak his exact emotion to that. He sucks in a breath through his nose, a fire in his eyes, before snapping to attention and marching away, hands fisted and step confident in the enclosing halls.

“Wait, brother!” Thor stammers after him, a hand reaching out but meeting nothing. Worry and concern flits weakens his voice. His boots are noisy on the floor as he tries to follow. “I did not mean that cruelly-”

“Goodnight, Thor.” And with that, Loki teleports.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Remember when we had a whole chapter about banking? I miss those days.
> 
> Happy Christmas and holidays to everyone, hope you all have a good time!


	76. Chapter 76

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A chapter in which Rocket suddenly sympathises with parents everywhere!

Rocket, lacking any kind of Asgardian etiquette, kicks open the doors to the palace dining hall and exclaims, “The blue ass himself is on his way!”

In a strange bout of amnesia, Loki very suddenly has no knowledge of these people and they are by no means associated with him.

Unlike the private quarters, this is the dining hall used by the warriors and guardsmen of the palace. Council members meet here to talk before their discussions with Odin, and visiting nobles eat the rich food on offer. Normally Loki would be with the royal family during these early hours, but at the thought of the awkward silence and a grovelling Thor had decided better off it and elected to eat here instead.

Swallowing down his mouthful, Loki takes a moment to ponder which evil is worse. Dining in the presence of Thor, Odin and Frigga, or public humiliation? 

Why is there rarely a third option?

Across the way Lady Sif and the Warriors Three sit huddled over their morning meals, conversing lowly. Fandral is a touch pale to the skin, one of his hands resting over his eyes and his Adam’s apple bobbing every few minutes. 

Loki does not miss the occasional glances directed at him, and dutifully ignores it.

Waving the team over, Loki scoots up the bench to allow Gamora and Drax to join him on his side, and Peter on the other. Rocket goes to join them, but then pauses in the doorway, hissing something down at Groot, who stamps his feet. 

“He saw the training area.” Gamora says in way of explanation. “He wants to go look.”

Sliding a bowl up the table, Loki rests his chin on the back of his hand. “The training area will still be there when we are done.”

“That’s what we told him.”

In the doorway, Groot’s face drops even further into an unpleasant scowl, causing Rocket to complain loudly, hands on his hips and tail brushing about.

“How did you find the training area, anyway? It is located on the other side of the palace.”

“Peter thought he knew the way.” Narrowing her eyes at Peter, Gamora huffs, “He didn’t.”

“Ah, I see.”

Servants appear behind them, switching out the used utensils for clean and placing down breads and hams. With practiced ease Loki sits back to allow the servants to carry out their jobs, snorting when Drax stares accusingly at a young woman as she picks up his plate. She smiles stiffly and makes a fast exsit.

“No Lucky Charms?” Peter smirks, helping himself to a large portion.

The drama in the doorway is getting out of hand. Groot begins shouting, kicking up non-existent dirt off the floor and extending long vines to hit at Rocket’s legs. From the corner of his vision, Loki can see most of the hall staring, save for Fandral who has finally succumbed to his hangover and sunk low on the table to bury his head in his arms.

Loki clears his throat. “How were your chambers?”

Gamora nods, “Nice. I heard Rocket move around at points, though.”

“Groot kept trying to sneak out.” Drax supplies, his mouth full as he speaks. “He worked out the latch to the balcony doors. Rocket had to keep stopping him.”

His fingers now tapping lightly on the surface of the table, Loki chews the inside of his cheek. “I am sensing a pattern, here.”

Running a hand through his hair, Peter peers over his shoulder at the scene. “Are we raising him bratty? It sounds bratty.”

“ _You’re_ bratty, Peter.” Gamora corrects, “Groot’s just being a child.”

Drax nods. “Pushing boundaries. Kamaria did the same when she was small.”

“Which may prove a problem if there are still spies within the palace” Loki sighs, and moves to stand. “Please excuse me; I think I know a way to settle him down.”

Climbing off the bench, Loki places his hands behind his back and approaches Rocket. As he moves across the room, he can feel the stares of Lady Sif and the Warriors Three on him, watching him as if a stalking phantom. Others stare too, eyes on the undead Prince who had returned from the endless fall. Locked together, Loki’s thumb twists into his palm.

Rocket turns to him, exasperation all over his face. “Tell him we ain’t here on fricking holiday!”

Loki smiles warmly, and turns to Groot. “What is this I am hearing of you trying to run off in the night?” 

“I am Groot…”

“You did,” Rocket corrects, “And you know it!”

“I _am_ Groot.”

“Ugh!” Throwing his hands into the air, Rocket stomps away a few paces. Loki glances at Groot, an eyebrow raised, and then looks to Rocket.

“I can take him to the training area.” He offers lightly, silkily, as if there is no issue at all.

“I am Groot?”

Rocket spins around. “No! He ain’t getting his own way!”

“Trust me, Rocket.” Loki continues to smile, and to anyone else it might seem genuine, but Loki knows Rocket, and Rocket, after all this time, knows him. Groot is a child, in truth he is barely out of infancy, so when Rocket pauses, and considers, he misses the unsaid words, the silent communication that busses between the two. “It will be fine. I can sort this out, go have breakfast.”

“ _Sort this out_ …” Rocket mutters, eyes darting from Loki to Groot and then back again. Finally, he caves, rubbing a hand over his temples. “Fine. Ok. Sure. Knock yourselves out.”

“I am Groot!” Cheering victorious, Groot scampers over to Loki and clambers up his leathers before Loki has the chance to bend and pick him up. With a good-natured roll of his eyes, Loki holds still until Groot is happily perched on his shoulder, legs swinging excitedly. 

Rocket points up to him, stern, instructing, “You listen to Loki, ya hear? Don’t go running off on him when he’s offered to take you around.”

“I am Groot.” Groot nods seriously, one hand clinging to the collar of Loki’s leathers. “I am Groot.”

“I shall hold you to that.” Loki says, pointedly. “Come on then, while the palace is still quiet.

As they leave the room, Groot twists around to wave at Lady Sif and the Warriors Three, and through his peripheral vision Loki spots Volstagg wave back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Supernanny, busting down the door, "I HEAR YOU HAVE A CHILD WITH BEHAVIOURAL ISSUES?!!"
> 
> Very important heads up: I'm getting a new computer, which would be no issue except that I will be going from Windows 2007 with a version of Microsoft Words from about the same time to Windows 10 and a newer Words. In theory, this will be fine and when I first put the document for this fic on the computer and open it will have the option to update the document, as I have done on other computers before. So, everything SHOULD be ok, and I have the fic saved in various places so it won't be deleted, but I just thought I should mention just in case. If all hell breaks loose I will update you all!


	77. Chapter 77

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Come fly with me, let's fly, let's fly away~

The Training area is as dusty as Loki remembers. 

The large courtyard is located to the north side of the Palace, away from all the meeting chambers and bedrooms but close enough that distinguished guests can be toured by, showing off the strength of Asgard. 

There are a handful of early birds already sparring, including one of the senior guardsmen and an obviously new recruit. The poor lad cannot be far out of his teens, and stumbles and staggers about the area dodging well-trained springs and thrusts from his mentor. Neither of them notices Loki and Groot standing in the shadows by the raised outer circuit, and Loki allows them to continue their lesson undisturbed.

Groot tugs at his hair, pointing.

“I am Groot?”

“No, we shall leave them to it. I remember what it is like to have your first lessons, and what it is like to do so in front of an audience.” 

“I am Groot…”

A cloud of sandy dust rolls up from under their feet, but it blows in the opposite direction. The courtyard is without a roof, morning sunshine beginning to peak into the area.

Something flies up into the rafters.

“I am Groot.” Groot says firmly, sounding cross.

“I promised nothing. I only said I would show you, not that we would participate.” Loki feels Groot start clambering down his leathers. “Groot…” He says in warning.

“I am Groot!” Groot huffs before sliding down Loki’s arm to land on the stone barrier separating the them and the training area, stamping his foot at Loki. “ _I am Groot!_ ”

Loki frowns, but makes no attempt to recapture Groot. “Language.”

“I am Groot.” Groot exclaims and points to the training area. With that he turns and starts running along the stone, heading towards the set of steps down into the space. The thing in the rafters hops from beam to beam, following. 

Loki regards it a moment, and then at a far more leisurely pace ambles behind. 

The sparring pair has paused in their workout to wander over to the weapon rack, the mentor pointing out the differences between daggers and swords. His student nods along, absorbing the information and asking questions.

They share a nose, Loki realises, and a jawline. Father and son, then, or perhaps uncle and nephew. The student must have wanted to follow in his family’s footsteps, and they are now bonding over a shared passion.

That causes a pang of something within his chest, and he turns his gaze away.

Groot notices Loki trailing him, and shouts an angry, “I am Groot!” his way. Loki sighs, and thanks the Norns Groot is not yet a teenager. 

Groot if far ahead now, and nearing the steps. The thing in the rafters thinks ahead, and levels itself with their destination before Groot does. From the corner of his eye, Loki sees it ready itself. 

“Groot, come here. Now.” He calls, but a very dirty look is sent his way in response. Mouth thinning, he stops, sets his chin, and watches.

Pausing at the edge of the railing, Groot peers over to assess his decent.

He has absolutely no time to prepare for the raven which swoops down and grabs Groot in his beak, swooping upwards and down a corridor with its new prize. Groot shrieks, both in surprise and fear, and the training duo both spin to look at Loki. 

Loki shrugs, and follows the raven casually, hands still behind his back.

Groot is struggling, trying to wrap his vines around the raven’s neck or hit it in the eyes. But ravens are aerodynamic birds, and a few barrel rolls cause enough disorientation to halt his attempts to free himself. 

“I am Groot!” He screams at Loki. “I am Groot!”

Noticing Loki’s presence behind them, the raven detours and glides up to perch on a small ledge between the wall and the ceiling. A few dizzying shakes stop Groot’s renewed attempts to get away.

“I am Groot!”

Loki stands below them, merely looking.

“I am _Groot!”_

“Brother,” A voice says behind him, though Loki does not turn to look. “Cease this cruelty, this being is your friend.”  
Thor steps up by his side, watching in concern. 

“Be at ease, a lesson has to be learnt here.”

“I am Groot!”

Lifting his arm, Loki clicks his fingers. “Munin.” 

Munin cocks his head and then preens, ruffling his feathers happily. With a bit of a hop he flaps down to land on his elbow, making a pleased sound as Loki runs a finger over his back. Groot’s wide eyes plead with him, and Loki finally relents. 

“Drop him.” Loki holds out his palm, and dutifully Munin deposits Groot. Sensing that Loki will be turning his attention away from him, Munin swoops over to perch on Thor’s shoulder where he is petted for his efforts.

“Now then, Groot,” Loki starts, voice leaving no room for disagreement. “I think we need to talk.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Loki, A* babysitter
> 
> Now, a few things:
> 
> A) I LIIIIIVVVEEEE! This story is NOT abandoned, I swear, however I am on a hiatus. This hiatus was going to continue but because I wanted to say a few things, I thought I'd upload a chapter instead.
> 
> B) I shall admit it - Yes, I have fallen out of love with this fic. My writing has changed, my style has changed, and my fandom interests have wandered elsewhere. I do look at this fic and wish I could alter things, or swap things around, and a part of me wishes I could delete, reedit things and finish the story, and then upload it all over again. 
> 
> C) That is NOT to say I am no longer into Marvel or these characters, but I've headed elsewhere for now. I highly suspect that with the release of Captain Marvel and Endgame I will be back and kicking again, which is what I was waiting for before I ended the hiatus, but...
> 
> D) Article 13. Ugh. I hate it. Yes, I live within the EU, so if this comes into fruition then it will effect me. Some places tell me it won't impact Ao3, others say it will. I'm not sure, but if it does then I will be cut off and unable to upload. So if I do one day vanish, and there is nothing being uploaded to my page (this story or otherwise), then the article 13 sniper had hit me. 
> 
> tl;dr: I'm on a hiatus but will not abandon this story, though if article 13 happens I might be stuck.


End file.
